Victory, Vigilance, Sacrifice
by eyeofjanus
Summary: Eruestan would rather be studying. Rowena wants to travel the high seas. But when the ground starts spewing darkspawn and the country falls to pieces, two unwitting heroes will rise to change the course of history. Another retelling of the Fifth Blight.
1. Movements in the Wilds

The storm clouds seemed to stretch on for an eternity.

Duncan frowned, his eyes scanning the vast wastelands that made up the Korcari Wilds. Despite never having seen clouds like that, the commander of the Fereldan Grey Wardens felt he could recognize them. Their structure, color, and movements all perfectly matched everything he'd ever read about the Blights. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword for comfort.

"I don't like this," he said finally, turning away from the cliff face. "I don't like this one bit."

His comrade frowned beside him. "Do you think the signs are clear enough?" Radriline murmured, straining her eyes as if she were looking for an Archdemon. "Storms this time of year aren't uncommon in the Wilds…"

To Duncan's other side, Eddric snorted. "Korcari storms are bad, sure, but I've never seen clouds do anything like that before…"

"And I've never seen you sober, Eddric," Radriline shot back. "That doesn't mean it can't happen."

Duncan shook his head. "Look how those clouds seem to be outlined in green…and how those ones are broiling like that…what does that look like to you, Radriline?"

She shrugged. "Freak weather."

"Like this?" Duncan ran a hand through his hair. "All of these signs directly follow the old records…"

Someone scoffed behind them. They turned around to see one of their new initiates leaning against a tree, an eyebrow raised.

Radriline frowned. "Is there a problem?"

Camren rolled his eyes. "Old records? What, from the last Blight? That happened four hundred years ago. Anything in there is just myth and superstition."

"Those are the ancient writings of the elders of our order!" Radriline snapped. "Their wisdom has guided us for centuries!"

"Well, maybe it's time for an update." Camren checked his teeth in the reflection from his sword. "Let's face it, the Blights are over. Garahel killed all the darkspawn in the Exalted Age. We're irrelevant now. Just pretend to care and collect the glory."

"You don't know what you're talking about," she said, nostrils flaring. "Being a Warden is not about attaining glory. We have defended Thedas from the threat of the darkspawn for ages. Modern civilization could not exist without the sacrifices our forebears made!" She glared at the other young man standing near the rocks. "I certainly hope not _all _our recruits have this opinion…"

Alistair flushed. "Er…don't mind me, I don't have much to contribute." A hopeful light flared up in his eye. "Wouldn't want to _blight_ the conversation."

The joke fell completely flat; in fact, it only seemed to make Radriline even angrier.

"Disgraceful," she hissed. "That flippant, _callous_ attitude will—"

"Radriline, please," Duncan said wearily; she pursed her lips tightly and turned around, glaring at the gleeful look on Eddric's face. Sighing inwardly, Duncan walked towards Camren. Every now and then, people like him got the idea that they would find easy prestige by joining the order; that usually meant he had to bring out the speech he was about to give. "Camren, you're right."

The boy looked up, startled. "I am?"

"He is?" Radriline and Alistair both asked in unison.

Duncan nodded. "Yes, you are. There hasn't been a Blight since the Exalted Age. Our order _has_ become a bit irrelevant. However," he said, holding up a hand and stopping both Radriline and Camren from butting in, "you are wrong on one account."

"Am I?"

He nodded again. "Yes. You see, Garahel did not kill all the darkspawn at the end of the last Blight. Plenty survived, plenty will follow, and plenty more will wreck havoc on Thedas at some point."

Camren rolled his eyes. "Let me guess, you read that from the old records?"

"No," Duncan said. "I've seen them myself."

Ignoring the startled looks spreading across both Camren and Alistair's faces, Duncan turned back to Radriline and furrowed his brow. "We're going to have to go deeper," he said. "There's no way to find out for certain otherwise."

She nodded. "And if we should stumble across a horde?"

"We pray to whoever can hear us that we survive to warn the world," he replied just as grimly.

"It's just going to be the five of us?" Alistair asked. Duncan noticed they boy's hand was fidgeting slightly with his sword. "Shouldn't there be more of us if there really are darkspawn out there?"

Eddric shook his head. "Just like we can sense them, they can sense us. The more of us there are out there, the more likely we are to be discovered. Going out in a small group is probably going to be the only thing keeping those things from fucking us up the arse with a spear."

"Oh," Alistair said. "Well, when you put it that way…"

Spluttering, Camren stepped forward and cut him off. "But we won't find any darkspawn. He hasn't really seen darkspawn, right? He's joking, right?"

Radriline stared at him coldly. "If you have to ask that, you really don't know Duncan at all." Secretly pleased to see Camren's face pale, she turned around and began to lead them towards the darkening skies ahead.

* * *

The first thing Duncan noticed was the silence.

Normally the Wilds were filled with noise: chipmunks, leaves, and even distant howls of wolves if he happened to be particularly unlucky. Now, however, the only sounds to be heard were the clanking of armor and the occasional swear word as Camren tripped over an unseen root.

The Korcari mists, of course, didn't make things any easier. The further they walked, the thicker they became, until at times it seemed to Duncan that they were walking amongst the clouds themselves. He himself had some trouble steering clear of tree roots…although he still had a much easier time of it than Camren.

That was not the worst part of being out in the Wilds, though. No, what made Duncan's stomach wrench with fear were the fleeting whispers that penetrated his mind for an instant, a sweet melody of decay and destruction that made his skin crawl. As the day went on, the feelings became more and more frequent; from Radriline and Eddric's expressions, they were hearing them, too. Duncan set his jaw; whatever that meant, it was not good.

As the sun slowly began to set above them, Duncan stopped his march in the middle of a clearing. "We'll set up camp here," he announced, letting his pack fall to the ground.

Behind him, the two recruits sighed in relief as they let their packs collapse to the ground as well. "Finally," Camren gasped, slumping against a fallen tree trunk. "I thought we'd never stop."

"There'll be time for rest later," Radriline barked. "Right now we need to set up camp." She set the two boys to a variety of tasks, making them carry water, build tents and set up the fire. She then disappeared into the woods for an hour, returning with two dead pheasants and a squirrel.

As day faded into night, the five party members found themselves lounging around the fire, stomachs full of roast bird and squirrel. As per usual, Eddric launched himself into one of his famous stories.

"So I'm balls drunk, it's three in the morning, and I'm convinced that this dwarf fellow is a genlock. So I start swinging my hammer back and forth, only by this point I'm so out of my mind I can't remember how to do anything other than flail out at shoulder level. So this whole time I'm hitting the air two feet over his head, and he's just standing there staring at me like a damned fish!"

"So what happened?" Alistair asked, fascinated.

Eddric roared. "Well, my commander came in and calmed me down, and the dwarf wasn't injured. Get this, though; when they asked him why he didn't just run away, he said, 'Well, at first I was afraid to, but then I started enjoying the breeze!'"

Everyone burst into laughter; however, it quickly subsided as they became aware of the oppressive silence of the forest around them.

"How do you know if it's a darkspawn?" Alistair asked, staring into the flames.

Camren snorted. "What do you mean, how do you know if it's a darkspawn?"

Alistair shrugged. "I mean, how do you know it isn't a dwarf or a diseased elf or something. It's not like I've ever seen one or anything."

Duncan laughed darkly. "Oh, believe me, you won't mistake one for any elf. Once you see it, you'll know."

Alistair continued to stare at the fire. "Why do they even exist? What's their purpose here?"

Radriline yawned. "That depends on who you ask. The Chantry of course says they're a punishment on mankind for allowing the Tevinter mages to enter the Golden City; the Chasind Wilders, however, think they're corrupted animal spirits-"

Camren laughed. "Let's not count the Chasind in here, okay? They still believe that the trees can tell the future."

"And you believe that one entity created the entire universe out of nothing," Radriline retorted. "What makes one more logical than the other?"

He stared at her. "What, do you not believe in the Maker?"

"The Grey Wardens renounce all religion upon entrance," Duncan interrupted. "But we're not here to debate theology, we're here to defeat the darkspawn."

"Which were created by the Maker," Camren said.

"Then the Maker's an idiot," Alistair said quietly. Everyone turned and stared at him. "Sorry," he said quickly, blushing. "I forgot everyone can hear you when you say things out loud."

Camren crossed his arms. "I'm with a bunch of heretics," he muttered, drawing into himself.

"When you've seen as much as I have, it's hard not to be," Radriline shot back. Obviously irritated, she turned around and began polishing her bow.

Camren shot her back a dirty look. "Whatever," he said, standing up. "I'm going to sleep."

"No, you're not," Duncan said. "You've got first watch. Wake me up in three hours."

The young man's face grew pale once more. "W-watch? But who knows what sort of things are out there?"

"I do," Duncan said. "Wolves, bears, mountain lions, giant spiders, and, especially if they just heard you, angry Chasind Wilders. Which is why we need a watch. Good night." Despite his years of wise leadership, he couldn't help but feel good about the look of panic that flitted across the recruit's face. Smiling to himself, he walked back to his tent, laid on his bedroll, and within minutes had fallen asleep.

* * *

_The Deep Roads were swarming with darkspawn. Their twisted bodies seemed to form an underground sea of corrupted flesh, a thriving horde that left a sickening black taint on everything it touched. Duncan was floating above it, powerless to do anything to stop it. The farther he flew, the more horrified he became, until it was clear that he was witnessing the formation of a massive army. Reeling with disgust and despair, he felt in spite of himself a dragging sensation towards a dark hole near the back, a hole that would not stop calling until it had consumed him entirely…_

Duncan yawned blearily as he trudged through the Wilds the next morning. His dreams that night had made his sleep so restless that he finally decided that he should just keep watch until sunrise. Sensing his fatigue, Radriline assumed command of the group, blazing a trail through the Wilds that was surprisingly easy to follow.

"Feeling all right, chief?" Eddric muttered as he ducked under a branch.

Duncan shook his head. "The nightmares are growing worse."

"Same here," Eddric said. "Raddie's said as much, too."

Duncan grunted. A few moments of silence passed. Then:

"Do you really think it might be another Blight?"

Duncan grunted again. That question had been running through his mind ever since the rumors had trickled in from the south. For months now word of increased darkspawn activity inside the Wilds had been reaching him; these, combined with the nightmares that almost every Warden had been experiencing from as far away as the Anderfels led him to believe the worst about the situation. However, the points Camren had made yesterday were valid. So much time had passed since the last Blight that Duncan wasn't sure if he'd recognize whether one was happening or not.

"I don't know," he said finally. "We'll find out." Sensing that the conversation was over, Eddric nodded and remained silent.

Out of nowhere, Radriline stopped short and drew her bow. "Duncan," she breathed, staring forward grimly.

Duncan looked up; he, too, immediately drew his weapons. Behind him, Alistair and Camren gasped with disgust at the sight ahead.

Three mangled bodies were pinned by crude swords to the tree in front of them, twisted so unnaturally that Duncan originally had trouble recognizing them for what they were. One had a head missing; the others were so horribly disfigured that he couldn't tell what was missing and what wasn't. Revolting blotches of decayed brown skin were splayed along all three bodies.

"Darkspawn," Duncan breathed.

"Darkspawn?" Camren squeaked. "Are you sure?"

"What else would do this, boy?" Eddric barked.

"I don't know, wilders, maybe, or outlaws?" There was a rising note of panic in Camren's voice.

"You think humans did that?" Alistair asked incredulously.

Camren opened his mouth to respond; however, before he could, the whispers in Duncan's head mounted to a shout, and the next thing anyone knew an arrow was spouting from Camren's throat.

"_Cover_!" Duncan shouted as a small volley of arrows flew from seemingly out of nowhere. Camren fell to the ground, hands clutching feebly at his neck. A band of hurlocks and genlocks were pouring out from the trees, bearing down upon them. Duncan turned around and faced his companions.

"Radriline," he growled, "into the trees. Edd, concentrate on those hurlocks to the left; I'll take out the ones by the rock. Alistair," he said, turning back to the initiate. The boy nodded at him, face pale. Duncan had a vivid flashback to when he first confronted a darkspawn himself; he reached forward and put a hand on his shoulder.

"It's time for your initiation," he said.

Without blinking, Duncan leapt up and began running at full speed to the group of darkspawn by the rock. His blades flashing, he slammed into the one nearest him with his shoulder; it staggered back, giving him the opportunity to plunge a sword into its chest. Ripping it back out, he used it to block a swipe from another hurlock, whose stomach he quickly opened with his other sword. He sensed another one behind him; however, by the time he spun around, one of Radriline's arrows had found its way into its head.

Meanwhile, Alistair was struggling against his opponent, a genlock of at least half his height. Despite being short and stocky, the creature was surprisingly agile, and it was all the boy could do to keep it from opening up his entrails. Suddenly concerned, Duncan made as to go help him; however, at that moment, Alistair grunted with effort and slashed out exceptionally fast, catching the darkspawn off guard and hacking off its hand. Ignoring its shrieks of pain, Alistair jabbed forward and drove his sword into its head.

"Well done," Duncan said as the corpse fell to the earth; Alistair started, obviously not aware of where he was. "It's not every man who can kill a darkspawn by himself, let alone on his first time."

Alistair stared down at it for a few seconds, breathing heavily. "They are pretty ugly, aren't they?"

Duncan laughed. "You haven't even seen the worst of them."

"Great," Alistair said. "Something to look forward to."

Duncan chuckled again and turned back to his fellow Wardens. Eddric was covered in blood and looked thrilled to be so; Radriline, however, looked extremely grim.

"Duncan," she said, "an organized group of darkspawn on the surface? Do you think…?"

He nodded. "It's time to be on the move," he said. "Ferelden is about to see its first Blight."


	2. The Queen's Trials

Queen Anora was struggling to stay awake.

She had been up very late the previous night pouring over the budgets for the next fiscal year. By the time she had everything sorted out, the sun was almost rising. Normally this was not a problem; she either slept later or postponed work to the next day. On Mondays, though, the Crown held court, requiring her full attention. Now, an old man was in front of her, droning on about the treatment of Denerim's sewage. She nestled back into her throne, basking in the warm sunlight pouring through the window. Within a few seconds, her eyes began to grow heavy.

She suddenly remembered where she was and sat up straighter. She was the queen, it would not be appropriate to be caught dozing off in the middle of her own court.

At that moment, Anora became aware of a steady stream of snores coming from her right. King Cailan Theirin was sprawled out on his throne, dead asleep.

Anora glared at him. "Cailan," she hissed. "Wake up."

The king responded by snoring even louder.

"Perhaps His Majesty would wish to discuss this at a later date…," the sewage advisor said, obviously less than amused.

Anora put on her warmest smile. "Of course not. His Majesty is very concerned with the cleanliness of the sewers, especially as it affects the health of all those who live in Denerim. Aren't you, my sweet?" she growled, elbowing him sharply in the side.

Cailan jolted awake. "Declare war!" he yelled, causing every petitioner in the room to start.

Anora was sure her face was going to crack from the strain. "Yes! Declare war…on faulty…sewage…right, my love?"

"Yes…" he said slowly. "Sewage…"

The old man bowed. "As you wish, Your Majesty. We go to…battle, then, next week."

As the next petitioner filed forward, Anora shot a nasty look at her husband. "'Declare war'? "

"It got the job done, didn't it?" he said, grinning.

She rolled her eyes. "You'd be lost without me."

"Always thought so." She smiled back; however, her heart panged. How long had it been since he had really meant that? It was no secret that Cailan's heart had not been hers for a while.

The next case quickly pushed thoughts of herself from her mind. A soldier approached the royal couple warning them of rising tensions within the Alienage.

"The elves have been acting unruly lately," the captain reported. "Several of them are clamoring again for representation at court, and many more are complaining of the lack of food and proper shelter."

"Do you suppose that we'll need to use force to sort it out?" Cailan asked, frowning.

The captain shrugged. "Hopefully not. However, that's always a possibility."

Anora sighed. Raids on the Alienage were always senselessly destructive, which reflected poorly on the crown. Besides, the risks of the fire spreading to the other parts of the city were very great.

"Thank you for informing us," she said. "Let us know if the situation intensifies." The man nodded and was replaced by a Chantry sister asking for a greater contribution from the Royal Treasury.

As the petitions continued, Anora found herself becoming more and more at ease. Solving problems put her in her element; there was nothing she loved more than finding clever solutions to her subject's worries. Despite only being queen by marriage, the entire country knew that it was she, not her husband, who held the real power in Ferelden.

"We cannot reimburse slaughtered chickens when no chicken corpses are to be found," she said finally as the last complaint was filed before her. "If you can bring the skeletons next week, we'll see what we can do." She slumped back into her throne with a sigh; beside her, Cailan had fallen asleep once more.

_Maker give me strength_, she thought. Turning to her steward, she asked, "Is that all for today, Lord Rathor?"

The old man checked his list and nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty, all the names here have already gone through."

"Thank the Maker," she said with relief. "Please dismiss the court."

Lord Rathor drew himself to full height. "If there are no more issues to be brought before the crown…"

"I'm afraid I have an issue," someone said from across the throne room; Anora looked up and raised her eyebrows in shock.

There were three people standing in the massive entrance to the chamber. The farthest left was a short woman with cropped black hair; the shape of her nose and the color of her eyes gave the impression of her being an oversized eagle. Next to her stood a dark-skinned man with a thick ponytail and an earring. Two wickedly sharp swords hung from his belt, and as always Anora couldn't help but imagine him as a pirate. The last man was simply enormous, at least six foot six with a great mane of hair and a warhammer larger than most people. All three wore armor bearing a grey griffin in the center of their breastplates.

"Commander Duncan," Anora said, trying to keep the note of concern from her voice. "What brings the Grey Wardens to court?"

He stepped forward. "We have dark news from the south, Your Majesty," Duncan said. "Darkspawn activity in the Korcari Wilds have led us to fear the beginnings of a new Blight."

Gasps of shock rippled through the assembled nobles as Anora felt her heart flutter. Finding herself at a loss for words, she was relieved to hear someone else take charge.

"What signs?" the voice boomed. "What gives you the right to say so?"

Anora looked around in relief to see her father, Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, stand up in indignant pride in the left gallery of the throne room.

Beside her, Cailan jolted awake with a gasp. "What'd I miss?" he asked, gazing about the chamber.

Duncan bowed. "Your Majesty, I come bearing grave news of a potential Blight to the south."

Cailan sat up excitedly. "A Blight?' he asked with a little too much enthusiasm. Anora glared at him; she knew exactly what he was thinking. This was his chance to become a great hero-king, the man who rode into battle and saved his people by slaughtering a darkspawn horde.

Loghain held up his hand. "So far we have been given no evidence as to the idea that any Blight should exist."

Duncan pulled out a bundle of papers from beneath his cloak. "A handful of eyewitness accounts of darkspawn raids on the surface."

"Excellent," Cailan said, "we ride to battle tomo—"

Anora silenced him with a glare. "Papers can be forged, husband. I certainly hope there is more convincing evidence than that." From the corner of her eye she caught her father nodding at her; she smiled and held her head a little higher.

"Wise words, Your Majesty," Duncan said. He reached back into his cloak and pulled out a scroll this time, one sealed by an official stamp. "You're right, of course. That's why I've brought with me the signed word of Lord Hoban Rowle from the Southern Bannorn; he confirms the stories found within those papers and wishes to inform you that he has sent his wife and son north to Highever to distance them from what he views as a growing threat."

Anora's heart sank as she heard nervous titters ripple through the court. The sealed testament of a noble was not to be treated lightly in Ferelden.

"Well, that settles it, doesn't it?" Cailan asked. "I hereby call my armies to—"

"Silence, boy," Loghain barked. "Until I see one of those damn bastards right in front of me, I refuse to believe that any Blight…"

His voice trailed off as Duncan nodded to two men in the back; they walked out into the hall and came back carrying two human-shaped bundles. As they bent down to open them, Anora suddenly turned her head to look away. She knew what was inside, and she had no desire to see them for herself.

There was a collective gasp as the bags opened; she could only imagine what everyone else was seeing. The old legends always painted darkspawn as twisted ghouls with mottled skin and distorted bodies; the old records said they were far worse. Cailan sounded as if he was going to retch beside her. She was glad to not have looked.

Her father spoke. "How fresh are these kills?" Loghain's voice seemed strangely detached from his body.

"As fresh as possible," Duncan responded. "They were killed in the Wilds three weeks ago."

"Were they by themselves?"

"No. There was a band of about sixteen. Their level of organization was greater than any I've ever seen in sixteen years of leading the Grey Wardens."

Loghain cursed under his breath. "And other bands like this have been sighted?"

"Yes, and larger. Likely they're scouts for the Archdemon's horde."

Loghain's voice cut through the room. "You've seen an Archdemon?"

"No." Duncan paused. "Perhaps I've spoken too soon. However, with what we've been observing, I believe it's only a matter of time before…"

"Before what?" Cailan demanded.

"Before the Archdemon is sighted, Your Majesty," Duncan said. "Before the Fifth Blight is declared."

Loghain sighed deeply; Anora's eyes fluttered open to look at him.

"Gentlemen," she said, rising to her feet. "What should we do?"

The look her father gave her was harder than any she'd ever seen, an expression unmatched by most statues. "What more can we do?" he said. "We must go to war."


	3. The Circle Tower

"Psst."

"Shut up."

"Give me your homework."

"Go away, Jowan."

"I need your homework."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Pleeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaassssssssse?"

"You're an idiot."

"I know, that's why I need your homework."

Eruestan Surana sighed. "Maker's breath, Jowan, if you get caught again…" The elf took a quick look around and slid a piece of parchment along his desk. The greasy-haired human sitting next to him pounced on it and began copying like a madman.

"Hurry up!" Eruestan hissed. "If Leorah catches us…"

"…she will not be very pleased," a shrill voice snapped from behind them. The two boys jumped and turned around to see a very stern-looking Elven woman glaring down at them.

"S-Senior Enchanter," Eruestan stammered as the rest of the class sniggered. "I—we didn't see you c-come in…"

"Evidently," she sniffed. She raised her hands; although she didn't cast a spell, the entire class sprung to their feet. "Class, it appears we have two cheaters among us."

Eruestan began to blush. After almost fourteen years at the Circle, he had still yet to learn that letting Jowan have his way was a sure recipe for disaster. About once a month his friend was caught doing something illicit, and about once a month Eruestan was implicated in it. The best thing to do was to just stay still, let Leorah have her fun humiliating him, and let things carry on.

Jowan, however, had a different strategy in mind.

"We aren't cheating, you old hag!" he shouted, cheeks red. "I was just checking my pentagram with Eruestan's, that's all!"

Eruestan sighed and closed his eyes as the other apprentices snickered. He could practically feel Leorah glaring at them. For his best friend, Jowan really was a bit stupid.

"Is that so?" Leorah said. "Well, then, Jowan, if you've done the work, you should be able to read me what you've decided to write along the outside of your circle."

"You bet I can!" Everyone (including him) knew he couldn't. "All right….let's see…_arnok…itoll….cremen…cramen…cramanistra?_"

"_Cremanaestra_," Eruestan hissed, resisting the urge to smack him.

"Uh, yeah! _Cremanaestra!_ _Colfis utare samti…oldrugabuu'uu…_" His voice trailed off as the laughter from the class grew louder.

Leorah waited until they died down, a smile flitting across her face. "Interesting choice, Jowan," she said. "Jennisor's Circle would be sufficient indeed to hold a Rage Demon at bay. However, before you copy from your friend, you might want to make sure he's written the words down properly." She turned to Eruestan. "You've transcribed it incorrectly, Eruestan."

Eruestan closed his eyes again. "Not exactly," he said. "I modified it."

Leorah raised an eyebrow. "You modified it?" she asked. "You took one of the most respected forms of demonic defense and decided to modify it?"

Eyes shut more firmly than ever, the elf nodded. "The original text was _Arnak itol'l cremanaestra colfis utare roftu kri'in_. However, that didn't prevent the demon from setting you on fire from a distance. By changing it to _Arnak itol'l cremanaestra colfis utare samti aldrugaebu'u_, you can contain the magic to within the ring."

Eruestan held his breath as he waited for Leorah to snap. Changing the text had seemed like a brilliant idea at three in the morning the night before in the Archives; now, however, he realized how audacious he had been. Archmage Jenissor had been the defining authority on demon confinement for four hundred years; changing it would only make him look grossly overconfident.

Leorah coughed awkwardly. "This…uh…this is rather clever."

Eruestan opened his eyes. "It is?"

She nodded, a little flushed. "I…this is…" She cleared her throat. "Take this to the First Enchanter, see what he has to say."

The class was silent. "You…you want me to go to Irving?"

"I want you to see the First Enchanter," Leorah corrected. "And yes. I feel he'd be highly interested in what you have here. Let me just write you a note…"

"Like he needs one," one of the apprentices muttered. "He goes up there every other week."

"Maybe if you were a bloody genius, you'd go up there, too," someone else snapped.

"Silence," Leorah snapped as Eruestan flushed even deeper. "The lecture will begin momentarily." She finished her note and handed it to Eruestan with his parchment. "Go on. The First Enchanter will be in his office."

Still flushed, Eruestan began to make his way out of the room…with Jowan right behind him.

"Jowan," Leorah said, "where do you think you're going?"

He turned around, surprised. "To Irving's office, to show him the thing."

"And why exactly would Irving want to see you?"

"Hey, I came up with that, too!" he cried, indignant. "Didn't I, Eruestan?"

Eruestan forced out an incredibly fake smile. "Yes. Yes he did."

Leorah sighed. "Fine. Whatever. You can go, too, Jowan. Maybe if I'm lucky, you'll be thrown out a window and that."

"Yeah, yeah, you're too kind, Leorah." Jowan threw his arm around Eruestan. "C'mon, buddy, we've got an enchanter to meet."

As the two walked out into the hallway, Eruestan tossed his friend's arm off of him and glared at him. "You know, the word 'idiot' really doesn't do you justice."

Jowan shrugged. "Say what you will, I got out of class and that's all that matters. Besides, Leorah hates me, she was waiting to get rid of me anyways." His face grew dark. "They all hate me here."

"Gee, I wonder why." Eruestan continued to stare him down. "Well, what are you going to do now? You're not actually planning to go to Irving with me, are you?"

"Right, 'cause that'd be so much fun." He shrugged again. "I might head back to the dormitory, macramé a bit, try to sleep."

"Well, don't strain yourself." Eruestan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I really don't want to go up there today. I'll bet you ten bits that Greagoir's standing outside his door right now, ready to call me an Abomination and throw verses of the Chant of Light at me."

"We'd have to find ten bits first," Jowan yawned. "But whatever. You better go now before Leorah looks out and finds you standing here."

Eruestan shuddered. "Good point. See you when I get back?"

"You know where to find me," Jowan said, yawning again. "Have fun!"

The elf grimaced and made his way up the nearest staircase. Usually apprentices weren't allowed above the second floor; his note, however, gave him a clear pass to the First Enchanter's office. Navigating the halls like an expert, he turned up the narrow staircase leading up to Irving's office. The stairs were made of well-worn stone and were very poorly lit; their relative silence gave them an eerie echo. Soon, Eruestan began to hear voices drifting down from above.

"No, Irving, absolutely not," said a gruff voice that Eruestan recognized as belonging to the Knight-Commander of the Templars. "I will not allow that many mages out of the tower at one time."

Eruestan frowned. Mages out of the tower?

"Greagoir, be reasonable," Irving replied. "If these reports are true, we're going to need to march in full force towards the south."

"We've already sent enough of our men and women out there. They can make do with what they've got."

"They're telling us that they need more! Enchanter Wynne's letter should be more than enough to convince us to march down to Ostagar."

"Well, I won't allow it. The risks are far too high—"

"Risks?" Irving snapped. "By the Maker, Greagoir, they think there's a Blight going on! Do you know what we risk if we lose this battle?"

Eruestan froze. The last Blight had happened over 400 years ago, yet the stories were still terrifying. He had nightmares for weeks the first time he'd heard them.

At that moment, someone tapped on Eruestan's shoulder. Startled, he jumped around to see a winged helmet staring back at him.

"What are you doing up here, elf?" the Templar snarled.

"W-waiting to see the First Enchanter," Eruestan stammered. "I-I have something to s-show him…"

"Is that so?" the man snarled. " 'Cause it seems an awful lot like you're eavesdropping on some important conversations."

Before Eruestan could say anything further, the door to Irving's office burst open and Templar Knight-Commander Greagoir stalked out. Upon seeing Eruestan, his already deep snarl fell even deeper.

"Oh, not you again," he groaned. "What'd you do, learn to shoot lightening from your arse?"

"We mages have many skills, Greagoir, but that is not one of them," Irving said, stepping out onto the landing as well. "Unless, of course, Eruestan has figured out how."

Eruestan smiled. "Not today, at least, ser."

"Blast," the old man said. "Ah, well. We've survived this long without it." Irving ushered the elf into his office. Turning back to Greagoir, his expression became a bit sterner. "The King has issued his orders, Greagoir. You'd do the best by us all to follow them."

The Knight-Commander huffed. "Fine way to get us all killed, I say. This isn't over, Irving." He pushed the knight in front of him aside and jogged the short distance down the stairs to the Templar quarters.

"Trouble, ser?" Eruestan asked as Irving walked back into the office.

The First Enchanter rolled his eyes. "Greagoir's been convinced for years that we're all planning on murdering him in his sleep. It'd be out of character for him to start listening to me now."

As usual, Eruestan found himself unable to keep from staring around at the artifacts Irving had lying around his office. Ancient leather-bound books lined the ways, interrupted by bizarre skulls, foul-looking potions, exquisitely detailed maps, and odd apparatuses the uses of which Eruestan shuddered to think of. He wondered if even Irving knew where half of the things came from.

"Now, I was joking about the lightning," Irving said as he settled down into the chair behind his desk, "but to be honest, I wouldn't be surprised if you _had_ managed to figure something of the sort out."

Eruestan sat down in the chair opposite his mentor. "I wish I had," he said. "I bet that'd really come in handy."

Irving chuckled. "That, or cause horrific burning. Tell me, though, what do you have to show me today?"

Eruestan blushed and pushed his paper across the desk. "Leorah wanted you to see this."

Irving picked it up and skimmed over the note. "Jenissor's Circle, eh? Leorah says you've modified it."

Eruestan nodded. "I wanted to change it to limit the magic to inside the circle, not out."

Irving frowned. "Impossible. Ancient Tevinter grammar won't allow it."

"I know," Eruestan said, taking a deep breath. "That's why I used Qunari."

Irving's eyebrows shot up. "Qunari?'

Eruestan nodded. "The problem with using Tevinter is that the constraints of the circle take away all word-modifier relationships. It would fail to recognize that 'freezing' modifies 'cage'; the spell would freeze the demon and erect a cage, and the demon would be cast back into the Fade before you could study it.. However, Qunari forces you to combine modifiers with their objects in one word, meaning…"

"There'd be no problem in determining what was being frozen!" Irving finished, eyes sparkling. "That's brilliant! You've solved an issue that's been plaguing the magical community for centuries!"

He blushed. "It was nothing, really. Just took a bit of thinking outside of the box."

"And a bit outside the rules, eh?" Irving said, winking at him. "I seem to remember Qunari being forbidden to anyone under the rank of mage…"

He reddened even further. "I didn't mean to—"

"It's a stupid rule that I hate to enforce." Irving smiled. "You've been impressing us ever since you first came in as a small boy. There isn't a single thing you've been unable to do that you've put your mind to."

"I don't feel like that. My magic seems so much weaker compared to the mages."

Irving chuckled. "That's because it is! You're still an apprentice, after all; stronger magic will come." The older man settled back in his chair and gave Eruestan an appraising look. "Tell me, have you given any thought on what you plan to do with yourself?"

Eruestan paused. "What do you mean, ser?"

"You'll be a mage at some point," the First Enchanter said. "Do you have any idea what you would like to do once you reach that position?"

"I…I don't," Eruestan admitted. "I haven't given it much thought, to be honest."

"Unfortunately, our choices are fairly limited," Irving said. "The Tower doesn't provide much variety in career options."

"I don't mind," Eruestan said. "Teaching would be nice, or research. Whatever helps the Circle."

"Very selfless of you." The First Enchanter looked at him appraisingly. "Tell me, how do you feel about the Tower?"

This was a loaded question, and if anyone else had asked it Eruestan would have immediately felt much more uncomfortable. "I like the Tower," he admitted. "There's so much to learn, so much to study, and that's only in the apprentice library. I can't even imagine what the mage libraries look like."

"Though you've got a pretty good knowledge of the Archives, I imagine," Irving said dryly. Eruestan smiled. "Well, I'm glad you feel that way. Others are not always so content."

Eruestan hesitated. "Life here can be a bit…stifling."

He sighed and stroked his beard. "A mage's life isn't easy, Eruestan," he said slowly. "Our powers are great, that's true, but they come at a terrible cost."

"Demonic possession," Eruestan said.

"Not quite," Irving replied. "To be honest, to a well-trained mage, demons aren't so much a threat. No, what I'm thinking of is the life we lead here, trapped in this Tower, always under the eyes of the Chantry and unable to use our magic. You'll soon find that it's more of a curse than you realize."

"So what can we do?"

"Many men have asked that question before you, and many more shall ask it in the future. Unfortunately, the only advice I have to give is to be patient. The time may come when the Chantry's grip on us weakens, giving us the freedom to use our gifts as we choose."

The elf nodded slowly. "Ser," he said, "weren't you debating with the Knight-Commander about sending mages out of the Tower?"

Irving's eyes twinkled. "So, you were listening to us after all, were you? It's all right," he said as Eruestan began to protest, "these walls echo. But yes, we have been sending enchanters down south to the fortress at Ostagar for a week or two now."

"Why?" Eruestan asked, frowning.

"I expect you'll find out soon enough," Irving said. "A pity we can't send apprentices, someone with your talents would be…" His voice trailed off as he gave the elf an odd look. "How old are you?"

Eruestan blinked. "Newly eighteen, ser."

Irving stared at him for a moment. "Hm…yes…well, I'm glad you came to see me. This pentagram really is very clever. Congratulations."

"Thank you, ser," Eruestan said, confused. He rose from his chair as Irving began stroking his beard. "Should I see myself out?"

The old man nodded. "Yes…yes, please…"

Eruestan frowned slightly and walked out of the office. Something in Irving's look had bothered him.

Eruestan made his way back down to the apprentice's dormitories. To his surprise, Jowan was not there.

"Don't tell me he's decided to be productive," the elf muttered. "Inara, Rona, have you seen Jowan?" he asked, turning to two apprentices chatting a few bunks down.

Inara rolled her eyes. "Maker, no. That boy's such a creep."

"Totally," Rona agreed. "Absolute freak. He once tried to give me a pair of hand-knit knickers."

Eruestan sighed; he'd told Jowan not to do that. "In his defense, he does macramé really well."

"Like we care," Inara snapped. "The boy's a deviant, Eruestan."

"I hear he's a _blood mage_," Rona whispered, as if expecting Jowan to jump up behind her and snap her neck.

"Right," Eruestan said, "and he's got a third elbow sticking out of his back."

"Everyone thinks it, Eruestan," Inara said. "Even the enchanters. Why else do you think he hasn't been Harrowed yet?"

"I haven't been Harrowed either!"

"You _just_ turned eighteen, though. Jowan's almost twenty. He should have had his ages ago." Inara looked at her nails. "Look, I'm not saying anything against _you_, Eruestan. You're brilliant. Jowan, however…"

"Is a freak," Rona finished.

"Well, you're both wrong, ok? Jowan is perfectly normal, and you can go f—"

"ERUESTAN!" Jowan yelled excitedly, running into the dormitory. "Have you heard?"

The three apprentices turned around in surprise. "Heard what?" all three of them said.

Jowan was beaming with glee. "There's a Blight coming! King Cailan has called for troops to meet the darkspawn horde at Ostagar!"

Inara gasped. "What? Where'd you hear that?" Eruestan noted that she seemed to like Jowan a lot more when he had gossip for her.

"In the chapel," Jowan said. "Two Templars were talking about it over prayers."

"Why were you in the chapel?" Eruestan asked; however, Rona and Inara jumped forward and cut him off.

"How many soldiers are being sent down south?"

"Have they seen an Archdemon?"

"Is the king going to fight?"

"Is the king coming here?"

"Are the Templars leaving?"

"Are _we_ leaving?"

A deep tone echoed throughout the Tower, cutting them off.

"Oh, look, dinner," Eruestan said, grabbing Jowan's arm. "Excuse us, ladies, Jowan and I have to talk about homework."

"Really?" Jowan said as they left the dormitory and began climbing the stairs to the dining hall. "There's a Blight going on and you want to talk about homework? You really need to have more fun."

"I don't want to talk about homework," Eruestan said. "I just didn't want to talk to them. And I have tons of fun!"

"Says the mage who spent his eighteenth birthday poring over some dusty old book because it 'had an addendum on the transmogrification paradox'." Eruestan flipped him an obscene sign and took his seat in the dining hall.

"So how blown away was Irving this time?" Jowan asked as he took a huge bite of bread.

"Pretty blown away," Eruestan said. He looked up at the First Enchanter's table and was shocked to see Irving staring back at him intently. Suddenly nervous, the elf looked away and took a giant swig of water.

"Of course he was," Jowan said. "Maker, I wish that was me. No one here likes me."

"That's not true," Eruestan said. "I like you fine."

"Thanks," Jowan said, smiling. "And actually…could I talk to you after dinner? There's someone I…Eruestan, are you feeling all right? You look pale."

"I'm f-fine," the elf lied. In reality, he had suddenly become very dizzy. Trying to calm himself, he shook his head and said, "You were saying?"

"Right, um, there's someone I really want you to—Maker, what's the matter with you?"

Eruestan tried to answer; however, at that moment, he blacked out and swooned onto the table. Around him, mages and apprentices leapt to their feet, all exchanging grim looks. The time for his Harrowing had come.


	4. How Harrowing

When Eruestan came to, he was already standing in a very large room that he had never seen before.

The ceiling stretched up into darkness, disappearing into the shadows. Beautiful stained-glass windows lined the walls, depicting mages both at the height of victory and being devoured by demons.

At the center of the chamber, a large group of people stood around an ancient pedestal covered in glowing runes. Both Irving and Greagoir stood in front of it, looking extremely somber.

Eruestan felt a slight pang of fear. He didn't like where this was going.

Greagoir was the first to speak. "Eruestan Surana, what does the Chant of Light say about magic?"

The answer came as a reflex. "Magic is meant to serve man, and never to rule over him."

"Exactly. Thus spoke Andraste at the height of her power as she fought for the Maker against the dark maleficarum of the Tevinter Imperium. From that day on, mages and Templars have strived to follow this command, ensuring that all those who practice magic are able to control it."

"This is why the Harrowing exists," Irving said. "For centuries, apprentices in Circles all across Thedas have gone through this test; as we have passed it, so shall you."

Struggling to maintain composure, Eruestan cleared his throat and asked, "What exactly does this test entail, ser? I've never been told…"

"And rightly so," Greagoir said. "It is forbidden to reveal the secrets of the Harrowing to any apprentice before his or her time should come."

"Your task is fairly straightforward," Irving said. "However, by no means is it simple. You are to enter the Fade and kill a demon that lies in wait for you."

"Oh," Eruestan said. "Is that all?"

Noticing the look of panic on his student's face, Irving leaned in and said, "Remember, the Fade is merely the realm of dreams. While the dangers you face are real, you are still in control."

"Irving, the apprentice must complete the task on his own!" Greagoir snapped.

"A bit of advice won't hurt anyone, Greagoir," Irving replied. Turning back to Eruestan, he smiled and said, "Go on, now. Within the pedestal lies pure lyrium. It will take you directly to the Fade."

Nodding, Eruestan warily made his way to the stand. The idea of killing a demon was terrifying; he had only ever been instructed to identify them, not attack them. Trying to calm himself, he looked over to see a handsome young Templar standing about four feet away, looking just as anxious as he felt. There was something about the knight's eyes that soothed his fears. Taking a deep breath, Eruestan closed his eyes and stuck his hands in the basin.

For a second, nothing happened. Then, a brilliant shock of energy shot up his arm as a blinding light filled the chamber. When it died away, he had entered the Fade.

The landscape he found himself in was twisted and bizarre, as if created by a child. He was standing on what appeared to be a natural bridge situated between two jagged cliffs; the space beyond was infinite. Far off in the distance was the twisted mass that was the Black City, the former home of the Maker before the Imperium mages destroyed it.

"Well, this looks pleasant," he muttered.

Unsure of how to start, he began to make his way down the narrow land bridge. His footsteps echoed in the nothingness.

_This is odd_, he thought, looking around. _Irving made it sound like the demon would be waiting to meet me. Where is every—_

At that moment the ground collapsed beneath him. With a cry, he reached out and grabbed onto the nearest ledge. With a burst of strength, he pulled himself back on solid land.

"This place sUCKS!" He jumped away as a bolt of energy exploded near his hand. Looking around wildly, he saw a small ball of light floating above his head.

"Oh," he said in relief. "It's just a wisp." It zapped another bolt of energy at him. "Ok, point taken." He waved his hand; with a _blip_ the wisp vanished into nothing.

The mage didn't have time to relax, however, because at that moment a sickly-looking fern attempted to strangle him.

"Maker's breath!" He sent a small ball of flame flying at it; it shrieked and shrank away. "Is there anything here that doesn't want to kill me?"

"Not really," the rock next to him responded.

Eruestan jumped back three feet. "What, there are talking rocks here, too?" His education on the Fade had been more limited than he had thought.

The voice scoffed. "Don't be silly. That's ridiculous." A small mouse skittered out from behind the rock. "I'm down here."

Eruestan stared at it. "You're a talking mouse."

"Am I really?" it said. "I had no idea."

"Sorry," Eruestan said, a little embarrassed. "I just wasn't expecting something like you, that's all."

"Oh, believe me, there's a lot of stuff here you're not expecting," the mouse said. "They never really prepare us for what's waiting here."

"Us?" Eruestan raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

There was a flash of light, and all of a sudden a scrawny young man wearing apprentice robes was standing in front of him.

"First lesson of the Fade: never trust first impressions," he said, holding his hand out. "You can call me Mouse."

Slightly stunned, Eruestan shook his hand. "I'm Eruestan," he said. "I take it Mouse isn't your real name?"

Mouse shrugged. "It might have been. It's been so long, I can't remember."

"What do you mean? How long have you been here?"

"Decades, at least." He sounded bitter. "I was too frightened during my own Harrowing and I took too long. The Templars assumed that meant I had failed, and so they killed me, leaving me trapped here." He gave Eruestan a dark look. "They didn't tell you that, did they? They didn't mention the time limit."

The elf coughed. "No, not really."

"Figures," Mouse spat. "They never want us mages to succeed. They're more than willing to kill us all."

Eruestan frowned. "That can't be right, Harrowed mages make it out all the time."

The other mage shrugged. "Maybe things have changed. Regardless, you're still going to have to fight your demon," he said. "He's a powerful spirit, and you may not have the skills to defeat him."

"What can I do about that?" Eruestan asked. "I can't exactly sit down and take a class here. If I'm not ready now, I'll never be!"

"That's not true," Mouse said. "There are other spirits here, spirits that could help you fight."

"Can you take me to them?"

"I guess," he said. "So long as you promise to protect me."

"Why not," Eruestan said. "Though I can't promise I'll be that much help."

Mouse shrugged again. "Some help's better than none. Follow me." He then turned back into a mouse and began scurrying up a hill. Eruestan followed, struggling not to lose him in the tall grass.

As they climbed, he could suddenly hear the sound of metal clanging on metal. The sounds grew louder and louder, until he was sure he was going to stumble on a giant battle raging on the hilltop. Upon reaching the crest, Eruestan saw that instead of a massive struggle, there was one man beating a red-hot sword on a forge.

"Erm…hello!" he called out, trying to get the man's attention. The man didn't hear him. "Excuse me?" Still no response. Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward and tapped the man on the shoulder.

"WHO'S THERE?" the man shouted, spinning around; Eruestan yelped and jumped out of the way of his red-hot sword. "WHO ARE YOU?"

"Eruestansuranafromthecircletowerdontkillme," Eruestan gasped, hands in the air.

"Ah," the man said, laying down the sword. "A mortal. How interesting."

Heart still pounding, Eruestan looked warily at the man standing before him. There was something strange about his voice, almost if he was speaking through a helmet. "Who are _you_?" he asked.

The man puffed himself up. "I am Valor, the spirit of heroes," he said proudly.

"Oh," Eruestan said. "That sounds fun."

"So," Valor said, turning back to its forge, "you have come to face the demon, I see."

"Yes," the elf replied. "You wouldn't happen to be able to help me with that, would you?"

Valor stopped and grinned. "I may be able to help you," it said. "As you can see, I have many weapons that I could give you."

"That's great! Thank you so—"

It held up a hand. "There is one condition. You must prove your valor by besting me in a fight."

Eruestan froze. "Come again?"

"It's simple; defeat me in man-to-man combat, and you can have a weapon of your choosing."

"I can't fight you!" Eruestan exploded. "You're the embodiment of bravery! I'm an apprentice mage!"

"You will have to fight the demon, won't you? How can you face him if you cannot face me?"

"That's true..." He looked down at Mouse. "I don't know, what do you think? Is it worth it?"

"Don't look at me, I'm staying out of this one." He scurried behind the nearest rock.

"That's what I get for befriending a rodent," Eruestan muttered. Running a hand through his hair, he looked back up at Valor and asked, "Is it possible to defeat the demon without a weapon?"

"Possible, yes," Valor replied. "Probable? No."

"Of course not." Eruestan sighed. He weighed his options. If he survived this, he would have a much better chance at surviving his fight with the demon. If he didn't…well, the demon would have probably killed him anyways, then.

"All right," he said. "All right, Valor. I accept your challenge."

"Excellent." All of a sudden, the two of them were facing each other down in an empty field. Valor was wearing a full suit of armor; Eruestan was not.

"TO THE END!" Valor bellowed. It began charging at the elf. Eyes wide, Eruestan waved his hands blindly and froze the spirit in ice just before its sword ran him through.

Valor grunted, trying to break free. "This is…unexpected," it huffed.

"I agree," Eruestan said. Then, concentrating, he sent out a burst of energy that shattered the spirit into pieces.

Instantly they were back at Valor's forge.

"Impressive," Valor said, returning to its work. "Most mages let me cut them once or twice before they even think to use their magic."

"Yes, well, I'm glad it didn't come to that," Eruestan said. "Could I have my weapon, please?"

Valor turned around. The sword it had been forging had mysteriously turned into a staff. "Take this," it said. "It will help you greatly in the fight to come."

"Thank you," Eruestan said, grabbing it. Despite being in a dream realm, the wood felt real, alive, even. "Is there anything else I need to defeat the demon?"

"Courage, my friend," Valor said. "Courage and valor."

"Right," Eruestan said, "but I was hoping you had, like, armor or something…never mind," he said hurriedly as the spirit frowned. "I'll…fight it with bravery…I guess…"

As he turned around, Mouse scurried out from behind a rock. "You were brilliant!" he squeaked. "I've never seen someone defeat Valor so fast!"

"Ah, well, you know," Eruestan said, blushing. Clearing his throat, he looked around and said, "All right, where should we head to now?"

"There may be another spirit who can help," Mouse said. "He's really dangerous, though, so be careful."

As they descended into a rugged valley, Mouse stopped suddenly and groaned. "We can't go this way, look." Eruestan looked up to see three wisps floating in the distance.

He ran his hand along his staff. "I wonder…" Squinting, he jabbed forward with the staff. Instantly, a blaze of flame shot out from it, ripping into the wisps and rendering them into nothing.

Mouse transformed into his human form right beside him. "Whoa," he said. "I didn't realize you were _that_ good."

"I didn't either," Eruestan murmured in wonder.

"It feels great, doesn't it?" Mouse said . "Being able to use all that power?"

"Ye-es," Eruestan said. "It feels wonderful, actually."

"That's the problem with the Chantry, they can't see how talented we are. They just want to hole us up and never let us see the light of day."

Eruestan frowned. "I guess that's…" He shook his head. "C'mon. Let's keep moving."

The two of them descended down the valley. As they progressed, Eruestan found himself getting more and more tired.

"Don't worry," Mouse said when he complained of this. "That just means we're almost there."

Confused, Eruestan opened his mouth to say something…then gasped in horror when he saw what lay beyond the next corner.

It looked like a bear. Or at least, it would have, had bears been fifteen feet tall with horns sticking out of every inch of their bodies. The creature was huddled into itself, snoring loudly.

"You brought me to a Sloth demon?!" Eruestan hissed at Mouse. "Seriously?! How is this a better option?"

"Just don't antagonize it," Mouse murmured. "I think it might help you out."

"That's easy for you to say," Eruestan replied. "You don't have to face a blasted Sloth demon!" Mouse rolled his eyes and pushed him forward.

As the elf approached, the demon lazily began to stir. "Well, well," it said, yawning. "Dinner and a snack. My lucky day."

"We're not quite on the menu yet," Eruestan said, trying to keep calm. "I came here to see if you could help fight the demon I have to face."

"Why should I do that? That's _so _much effort, especially seeing as you're only going to die in the end…"

"Yes, well, ideally with your help, that won't happen."

The demon snarled. "I didn't take this form to be griped at by a weakling mortal."

Eruestan blinked. "Wait. That isn't your real form?"

"You mortals are all the same," the demon chuckled. "Always taking things for face value. Don't you realize that nothing here is what it seems?"

"If you teach me, I could," Eruestan replied. "Teach me how to take your form."

"I cannot. Mortals are too rooted in the idea of their own bodies." It paused. "I might be able to teach it to your friend, though."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down," Mouse gasped. "Me? A bear? Bears aren't very conducive to hiding."

"You can't hide forever, Mouse," Eruestan said.

"It's worked so far," he retorted.

"Oh, let him be," the Sloth demon sighed. "It'll make it easier to devour him in the end."

"See?" Eruestan said. "There'll come a time when you need to fight, and you're going to wish you'd learned to become a demon bear!"

"I don't know…" Mouse bit his lip. "Fine. Fine, I'll do it. I'll learn from you."

"What a character-defining moment for you," Sloth yawned. "Unfortunately, I have become bored, and when I am bored, I sleep. Good day."

"Hey now!" Eruestan said sharply. "You promised to teach Mouse!"

"I promised nothing," the demon said, closing its eyes. "And even if I had, it isn't as if I could be held to it. I'm a demon."

"Teach Mouse now," Eruestan growled, "or I'll make you do it."

"Now this is interesting," the demon said, opening one eye. "I might actually enjoy this." It shifted its position. "Tell you what. Let's make a little deal: I will tell you three riddles. If you answer all three correctly, I'll teach your friend. If you don't…"

"You'll let us go on our merry way?" Mouse asked hopefully.

The demon grinned, revealing a mouth full of wickedly sharp teeth. "I shall devour the both of you."  
"Oh," Mouse squeaked.

"We'll do it," Eruestan said.

"We will?" Mouse said in horror.

"I'm not going to get killed today," Eruestan said. "Not by this demon, not by the next one, not by anything. I accept your challenge."

"Lovely. First riddle." The demon's voice instantly became richer and more melodic. "_My towns have no people, my mountains, no land. My oceans, no water, my beaches, no sand. What am I?_"

"The moon!" Mouse said.

"Don't be an idiot," Eruestan snapped. "It's a map."

"The elf is correct," the demon drawled. "Next riddle."

"_I'm rarely touched but often held. If you have wit, you'll use me well._"

"Yeah, I have no idea," Mouse said.

Eruestan frowned. "Your tongue?"

"Correct again. Third riddle."

"_Often will I spin a tale, never will I charge a fee. I'll amuse you an entire eve, but, alas, you won't remember me._"

"Do you think it's the world's worst prostitute?" Mouse murmured.

"No," Eruestan said. "It's a dream."

"And you've won my challenge," the demon said. "Congratulations. Now come here, boy, and touch my forehead."

"I'd rather not," Mouse said.

"If I was going to eat you, I would have already," the demon growled. "Now come here before I change my mind."

"No, really, let's—oh fine," he said as Eruestan shoved him forward. Wincing, Mouse gingerly held out his hand and placed it on the demon's forehead. There was a bright flash of light, and all of a sudden Mouse had turned into a bear.

He blinked. "Well, this is new."

Eruestan broke into a wide grin. "Mouse, that's incredible! Thank you so—" He stopped as he realized that the demon had fallen back asleep.

"Let's forget him," Mouse said. "Come on! You're running out of time!"

"Do you know where my demon is?" Eruestan asked.

He nodded. "It's deeper within the valley. Come on!"

The two of them began to race down the ravine. As they went deeper, Eruestan noticed that the area grew progressively warmer. Sweat slowly began to drip from his brow, while Mouse started to pant heavily. A tree next to them burst into flames.

"Is it just me, or is it a bit warm?" Eruestan said as the fire spread to the surrounding vegetation.

"It's about to get a whole lot worse," Mouse gulped, pointing ahead. Eruestan followed his finger and paled.

It was somewhere between a man, a lion, and a goat, Eruestan decided. Maybe a bit of snake as well. All of its body, however, was made out of fire.

"Well, well," it said in a voice that sounded like someone hitting a rock against a wall, "look what we have here. Mouse, have you brought me another snack?"

Eruestan froze; Mouse, however, crossed his arms and said, "No! I don't work for you anymore! I'm done hiding!"

"Is that so?" the demon said. "What makes you say that?"

"This." With a flash of light, he morphed into his bear form and roared terribly, so loud it made Eruestan clutch his ears. Snarling itself, the demon charged at him.

Eruestan watched in awe as the two fought, tearing into each other with an animality he'd never seen before. The demon was as fast as sin, as thought; Mouse, however, seemed to have the strength of ten bears. It was extremely hard to tell who was winning. At various moments, his hands would twitch for his staff; however, a useful spell never came to mind before the moment passed. He found himself awkwardly on the sidelines, occasionally finding a chance to shout something encouraging.

"GO MOUSE oh you've killed him," he said as, with a burst of strength, Mouse shot forward and clawed the demon's body in two. There was a rumbling sound, a bright flash of light, and suddenly the two of them were standing alone in the clearing, Mouse back in his human form.

"We did it!" Mouse cheered. "We defeated him!"

Eruestan frowned. "Well, actually you did, but—"

Mouse waved it off. "Please. I might have fought him, but you're the one who gave me the skills to do it! You're incredible! None of the other mages were as strong as you!"

"Yes, about that," the elf said. "How many others have you betrayed before me?"

Mouse's face fell. "I…I don't remember, to be honest. It's all so long ago…but they didn't matter! They couldn't do the things you can!"

"They didn't matter?" The hairs on the back of his neck were starting to rise.

"Never mind that!" Mouse said at the look on Eruestan's face. "I think you can help me!"

"Help you? With what?"

"With this!" Mouse said, gesturing to the landscape. "With the Fade! I think you can get me out of here!"

Eruestan raised his eyebrows. "Get…get you out of here?"

"Yes!" Mouse said. "I think out of anyone, you can bring me back with you!"

His heart sank. A sense of dread rising in his stomach, he brandished his staff and said quietly, "I don't think that other demon was my test."

"What are you…" Mouse stopped mid-sentence and smiled. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped several octaves. "You mortals are all the same," he rumbled. "Always trusting appearances." As he spoke, his body began to grow, distorting itself into horrible shapes and forms, until finally he was a horned blue monster that towered several feet above the elf's head. "Never trust anything, mage. You'll live longer."

Eruestan stared numbly at the Pride demon, fully aware that he was practically powerless to stop it. "D-demon," he stammered, "prepare…prepare to…"

It chuckled. "Foolish thing." Then, it lifted its foot and smashed the mage into oblivion.

_Reviews are welcome!_


	5. Blood Runs Thicker

"_Eruestan…Eruestan…_"

He shifted slightly and opened his eyes. Jowan was staring right at him.

"AHH!" Eruestan sat up and looked around wildly. He was back in his bunk in the apprentice quarters, and everyone was looking at him.

"_He's awake_!" someone screamed. Within seconds, every apprentice at the Fereldan Circle Tower had swarmed him, shouting and cheering.

"Well done, Eruestan!"

"Fastest Harrowing they'd ever seen!"

"What was it like?"

"Were you scared?"

"Did you really kill a Pride Demon?"

"All right, fuck off, everyone!" Jowan shouted, waving his arm about. "Give the man some air!" The rest of the apprentices formed a circle around Eruestan's bunk, all staring at him with looks of awe and glee.

"I'm sorry," Eruestan said, "but what the hell is going on?"

"Eruestan, you did it!" Jowan said. "You passed!"

"Passed what?"

The crowd burst into laughter; Jowan smiled and said, "Your Harrowing, of course! Faster than any other mage in the Tower, too. That Templar Cullen said you were absolutely brilliant."

Eruestan groaned and ran a hand through his hair. His head was throbbing and every muscle of his body seemed to ache. "If I'm so brilliant, why do I feel like absolute sh—"

"I am here for Eruestan Surana," a flat voice said at the entrance; everyone turned around to see a tall bald man with an expressionless face standing at the doorway. "Where is Eruestan Surana?"

The crowd parted, creating a perfect path to Eruestan's bunk. "Um…I'm here," he said.

"Follow me, please." The bald man turned around and began walking down the corridor, not waiting for Eruestan to catch up.

"Maker's breath!" Eruestan said, standing up. "Who is this guy?"

"Real friendly type, it seems," Jowan said. "Find me when you get some free time!"

"Will do!" Eruestan shouted as he raced out of the dormitory. Dodging past a few apprentices, he finally caught up with the man, who was walking briskly up the stairs to the next level.

"Excuse me," Eruestan panted. "Ser?" The man didn't respond. "Hello? Ser? Ser!" With that he reached forward and yanked on the man's arm.

The bald man stopped and slowly turned around. "Yes?" he said emotionlessly, face flat. It was then that Eruestan saw the faint sun branded onto his forehead.

"Oh! You're a Tranquil." Eruestan tried very hard to keep a tone of uneasiness out of his voice. The Tranquil were those who, either by command of the Chantry or by personal desire, had their connection to the Fade permanently severed. While it did serve to get rid of their magic, the price was that they lost all connection to their emotions. As a result, they became unsettling, flat-faced beings caught somewhere between humanity and inanimacy.

"Yes," the man said. "I am Owain, the quartermaster here at Circle Tower. I am to show you your new chamber in the mage quarters."

"Er, thank you," Eruestan said as he turned around and continued walking. Owain was leading him to a part of the tower he had never been; the windows here were wider, letting in more light, and the air was less musty. At the top of the stairs, Owain veered left, leading them down a long hall lined with rooms.

"Here you are," he said, stopping so quickly Eruestan almost crashed into him. "Room 42. Your suitemates have already been instructed about your orientation. Please find me at the storerooms should you have any questions."

"Okay, thanks!" Eruestan called as Owain turned around again and walked away. Shaking his head, he pushed open the door…and found the room completely black.

"What the—"

"OY!" someone shouted. There was a clapping sound, and all of a sudden the room was full of light. Eruestan found himself staring at an elf and a human, both hunched over a cauldron. The elf turned to him in fury. "Didn't anyone ever teach you to knock?"

"Sorry!" Eruestan said. "I didn't know—"

"Well shut the door!" the elf exploded.

"Right!' Eruestan slammed the door shut and stared at the two of them.

They returned to the cauldron. "So what do you want?" the elf said, squinting in concentration at what he was brewing.

"Don't be an idiot, Ed," the human said, adding a pinch of herbs to the mix. "That's our new roommate."

The elf stopped. "_This moron_ is the prodigy elf with the fastest Harrowing record of all the mages in the tower?"

"Nice to meet you, too," Eruestan said.

"Don't mind Eadric," the human said, smiling back at him. "He's like this to everyone. I'm Niall. Could you hand me that stick?"

"What? Oh!" Eruestan stooped down and tossed it towards the other mage. "So what exactly are you making?"

"Moon ale," Niall said, stirring the cauldron rapidly. "It needs to be brewed in the dark—oh shit." There was a slight paused as he waved his hand around, bathing the room in darkness once more. "There we go. Yeah, it needs to be brewed in the dark, but it gets you drunk in about three and a half swigs. It's great."

"It's also forbidden at the Circle, so don't be a bastard and tell anyone," Eadric said.

"Got it." Eruestan drummed his hands against his legs. "So, uh, where's my bed?"

There was a huge sigh in the black. "Ed, cover it," Niall said. "I forgot, I have to show him around."

"Andraste's ass!" Eadric snapped his fingers and the room filled with light once more. "Let me know when you're done playing babysitter."

"Oh, sod off," Niall said. He gestured around the room. "Welcome, Eruestan, to the Oasis!"

The elf looked around, unimpressed. The room was divided into three sections by a series of dusty bookshelves that didn't seem to be widely in use. The three beds were pushed up against the walls, leaving room for massive piles of junk.

"This'll be your bed," Niall said, gesturing to the one in the middle; Eruestan could barely see it over a heap of elfroot. "It used to belong to Arno, but he went a little schizo after experimenting with deep mushrooms."

"Oh." Eruestan hoped he sounded more enthusiastic than he felt.

"Don't worry, this is the best room in the tower!" Niall chuckled and gave the elf a noogie. "C'mon, follow me. I wanna show you the rest of the floor."

Niall led him out of the room and down the hall. "So these are the rest of the mage quarters…that hall is for the guest chambers…here's the chapel…oh, hello, Keili!" A short, brown-haired mage had come hurrying out of the chapel door and nearly crashed into him.

"Out of my way, spellbind," she hissed, glaring at him. "I'm late to my practice session."

"Whoa there, pipe down, firecracker," Niall said, raising his hands. "Didn't mean to get between you and the Maker or whatever."

Keili rolled her eyes and pushed past them, disappearing around the corner.

"So…did, uh, she just say 'spellbind'?" Eruestan asked. "Because she looks an awful lot like a mage to me."

Niall grinned. "Yeah, Keili's special. She's the only one here who thinks magic's a curse and not an awesome way to blow things up with your mind." He led them around a corner. "Oh, here's the senior library."

Eruestan felt his brain shut down. The senior library was filled with more books than he had ever seen in his life. The shelves seemed to stretch on forever; he honestly was worried he wouldn't be able to process it.

"Niall," he gasped. "B-books."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, it's all right," the older mage said. Suddenly he winced and turned against the shelves. "Shit shit shit, don't look over there, don't look."

"Huh?" Naturally, Eruestan looked, only to see two elderly mages coming their way. "What's the matter?"

"No, no, what are you doing?" Niall tried to pull him away; however, before he could, the younger of the two men gave a cry and walked over.

"Niall!" he said. "What a pleasure to see you! And who is this young man?"

"This is Eruestan Surana, Senior Enchanter," Niall said, forcing a smile. "He's just passed his Harrowing."

The enchanter's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "This is the young man the whole tower's been talking about? A pleasure to meet you, lad! I am Senior Enchanter Torrin, and this is Senior Enchanter Sweeney."

"Eh?" the older man said. "What did you say?"

"Nothing, Sweeney," Torrin sighed. "Anyways, Niall, have you introduced the boy to the fraternities yet?"

"The what?" Eruestan asked.

"Evidently not," Torrin said, smiling. "I'll let Niall fill you in; just be sure to join the Aequitarians, although I'm sure this one's going to persuade you for the Libertarians." He winked at Niall, who didn't seem to be paying attention.

"Where are we?" Sweeney wheezed, squinting at them. "Is this the dining hall?"

"No, Sweeney," Torrin said. "Sorry, lads, I need to take this one on to the dining hall. I hope to see you later, Eruestan, and congratulations on your Harrowing."

"Thank the Maker, I thought they'd never leave," Niall muttered as the two walked away. "Two of the most boring men in the Circle…he would bring up the fraternities, wouldn't he…"

"What are the fraternities?" Eruestan asked.

"Oh, nothing. Groups of self-important people who think they know how the Circle should be run. They always have long Tevinter names…Lucrosians want money, Aequatarians want to work with the Chantry, Libertarians want total freedom…"

"And that's what you are."

"I'm not anything," he said, running a hand through his hair. "If I were, though, I'd be with the Isolationists. Lock ourselves away and throw out the key. But whatever. That'll never happen." He clapped his hands and looked around. "Right, so, do you want to go to the labs next or the artifact room?"

"Both?" Eruestan asked; however, at that moment, a Templar knight appeared behind them.

"Excuse me," he said. "C-can I see Eruestan?"

"What for?" Niall said, frowning.

The Templar's face grew harder. "First Enchanter Irving wishes to see him," he said. "I'm to escort him to his office."

"I think Eruestan knows the way," Niall retorted.

"Don't challenge me, mage," the Templar snapped.

"Whoa, whoa," Eruestan said. "Niall, it's all right. I'll see you later." Shrugging, Niall shot the Templar one last dirty look and headed back towards the mage quarters.

The Templar's face relaxed. "Sorry about that," he said, beginning to walk out of the library. "I didn't mean to yell at him."

"You're a Templar, it's your duty," Eruestan said. "Why does Irving want to see me?"

The Templar shrugged. "No idea. I'm Cullen, by the way."

"All right." Eruestan had never had a conversation with a Templar before, and he was unwilling to start now. Cullen, however, did not seem to be aware of this.

"I was there last night," he said, looking at Eruestan from the corner of his eye. "At your Harrowing."

Eruestan blinked. He suddenly remembered the nervous-looking knight from right before he went under. "That's right!" he gasped. "I remember you! You helped me!"

"I did?" He sounded happy about it.

"Yes!" There was something oddly pleasing about the look in the knight's eyes; Eruestan couldn't quite explain it. "You looked so nervous," he explained, feeling slightly flushed. "It was reassuring to see someone feel the same way I did."

He seemed overjoyed to hear this. "Well, um, I'm glad to have been of service!"

"Why did you look so anxious?" Eruestan said. "Why were you there, even?"

Cullen paled. "Um…well…if anything w-was to have…gone wrong…"

"…you were supposed to have killed me," Eruestan said, suddenly understanding. The knight's eyes became much less appealing. "Got it."

"I wouldn't have wanted to!" Cullen said, turning towards him. "It's just my duty, any other time I would never—"

"It's all right," Eruestan said, a bit confused. "That's why you're here."

Cullen opened his mouth to say something else; however, at that moment they almost collided with the Knight Commander.

"Out of my way," Greagoir growled. "I have business with the First Enchanter."

"So do we, ser," Cullen said. "The First Enchanter's requested to see this mage—"

Greagoir looked down and groaned. "Maker's breath, can I go one day without running into you, boy? What's Irving doing today, making you an Archmage?"

"Not today, Greagoir," Irving's voice said from above them; they looked up to see him and another man descending the stairs leading to his office. "Duncan, this is the young man I would like you to meet."

Greagoir's eyes narrowed. "Irving, no," he snarled, "absolutely not."

The First Enchanter ignored him. "Eruestan, I'd like you to meet Duncan, Commander of the Fereldan Grey Wardens."

Eruestan's eyes went wide as he looked up at the man standing behind Irving. The Grey Wardens were the heroes of all his childhood stories; he had always wanted to be Garahel, the elf hero who slew the last Archdemon and ended the Blights for four hundred years. To actually meet one was beyond his wildest dreams.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Eruestan," Duncan said; he had a nice, deep voice. "Irving's been telling me much about your Harrowing. Congratulations."

"T-thank you," Eruestan said, taken aback. "I didn't really do anything…"

Irving chuckled. "Of course, finishing your Harrowing faster than any apprentice I've ever seen is hardly to be commended. We're all proud of you." He smiled at the elf, and then furrowed his eyebrows. "But where are your mage robes? Didn't you receive a new set?"

"Did I?" Eruestan said. "I didn't know I was supposed to."

"That's Niall for you," Irving sighed, rolling his eyes. "No matter, we'll sort you out shortly."

"Oh, yes we will," Greagoir said. "Irving, what in the name of Andraste are you doing?"

"Nothing," Irving said, eyes wide in innocence. "Duncan is here to collect mages for Ostagar."

"Which I've already disagreed to," Greagoir said.

"Knight Commander," Duncan said, "the situation at Ostagar is much graver than you could imagine. We require many more mages if we hope to stand against the darkspawn."

"And I think that's ridiculous," Greagoir snarled. "You have plenty of mages already."

"Plenty!" Irving scoffed. "We've sent seven!"

"Seven is more than enough!" Greagoir reiterated.

"Perhaps you can continue this conversation within the First Enchanter's office," Duncan said, eyeing Eruestan and Cullen. "I'm sure you wouldn't want things to be repeated out of hand."

"A very wise thought," Irving said, getting in before Greagoir could say anything. "Greagoir, follow me. We'll sort this out." He turned back to Eruestan. "Why don't you show Duncan to his quarters. They're right off the chapel hall."

"Got it," Eruestan said, trying to hide his excitement; Greagoir, however, looked like he was having apoplexy.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Irving," he snapped. "Cullen, go with them."

"I believe Cullen has noon prayers, Greagoir," Irving said, winking at Eruestan. "Surely you don't want him to miss those."

Eruestan could see the conflict in the Knight Commander's eyes. Finally, he sighed. "Fine. Don't try any funny business, Duncan."

"I stopped being funny years ago, Knight Commander," Duncan said. "Your mage is safe with me."

"Very well." The two men turned and began to walk up the stairs.

Duncan turned to Cullen. "I believe you have prayers to attend to, ser."

The knight blushed. "I mean, if you're sure you don't need me to—"

"We're sure," Duncan said. "Good day."

"Right…" The knight bowed and headed off down towards the chapel.

"Templars," Duncan chuckled, shaking his head. "If you ever want to get something from them, threaten them with the Maker. Works every time."

"You have much experience with Templars?" Eruestan asked as they made their way down the stairs.

Duncan smiled. "Once you're in my position, you have some experience dealing with everyone; although I'm sure my expertise is slight in comparison to yours."

"Not really," Eruestan replied. "I've never had much trouble with them. They're just kind of…there."

"Not much of a rule-breaker, are we?"

The elf shrugged. "I've never really needed to be," he said.

"I take it you enjoy living here, then?"

"For the most part, yes."

"And you don't miss life outside the tower?"

He looked down at the ground. "I'm not sure," he confessed. "I was four when I came here, and I haven't left since. I mean, I was born in the Denerim Alienage, and Makers knows elves are treated better here…but still, I guess I would like to know what lies outside these walls."

The Warden nodded. "Who knows, you may have a chance to do just that."

"What do you mean?"

"That remains to be seen." They stopped in front of an oak door. "I believe this is my room," he said, "unless it's changed from last time."

"You'd know better than I would," Eruestan admitted. "I'll talk to you later, I suppose?"

"Yes, I think you will," Duncan said, staring at him. Eruestan had the vague sentiment that he was being appraised. "Good day to you, Eruestan."

"And to you, Duncan," the elf replied. The Warden opened his door and walked into his room.

A bit confused, Eruestan turned to go to his new room; however, before he could, someone called his name.

"Eruestan!" Jowan hissed from behind a statue. "Come over here!"

"Why are you whispering, Jowan?" Eruestan said as he walked over.

"_Shhh!_" His friend looked around frantically. "Keep your voice down! I can't get caught!"

"What are you talking about?" Eruestan said, frowning. "They'll just send you back to the apprentice quarters."

"That's not what I mean," Jowan said. "Follow me, it's not safe here."

"What the—hey!" Jowan grabbed his arm and dragged him down the hall and to the left. As they approached the chapel, he pushed them behind another statue.

"Shut up," he said urgently; the Templars were slowly filing out, noon prayers having finished. As the last few disappeared, Jowan sighed in relief and pushed Eruestan in.

The chapel was empty except for one young priestess and Keili, the mage from earlier. "Thank the Maker," Jowan said. "I was sure we would get caught."

"What the hell is going on?" Eruestan hissed, staring at him. "Why did you bring me here?"

Jowan led him over to where the priestess was praying. "It's simple," he said. "I need you to help me to break out of the tower."

Eruestan stared at him. "You know, on a list of 'Things Not to Say in Front of a Priestess', that's numbers 1-7. "

The girl stood up, bowed to the statue of Andraste, and turned to Eruestan. "I'm only an initiate, actually," she said, "and I was the one who gave him the idea."

Eruestan stared blankly again. "I'm lost."

"Um, Eruestan, this is Lily," Jowan said nervously. "My girlfriend."

The elf blinked. "Your what?"

"Jowan's told me so much about you," Lily said, giving him a hug. "It's a real pleasure to finally meet you."

"You too," Eruestan said, staring at her. "And how long has this been going on?'

"About two months," Jowan said. "I heard her singing the Chant of Light one night and fell in love."

"You're too sweet," she said; Eruestan blushed at the look they gave each other. "I thank the Maker every day for you."

"I can't imagine why," Eruestan said. "But seriously, I'm so happy for both of you. Congratulations."

"Thank you," Jowan said, smiling. "But please, you have to help us."

"Yes," Lily pleaded. "It's a matter of life and death!'

"What are you talking about?" Eruestan frowned. "Initiate/mage relations aren't forbidden."

"It isn't that," Jowan said. "Eruestan, they're going to make me Tranquil!'

"What?!" Even though Jowan and Lily hushed him, Keili looked over from where she was praying before returning to her thoughts.

"It's true," Lily confirmed. "I saw the order on the Knight Commander's desk this morning."

"But that's insane!" Eruestan hissed. "Why would they want to do that to him?"

"They think I'm a blood mage!" Jowan cried out. "They're going to cut me off from everything that makes me who I am: my magic, my emotions, my love for Lily…please, you have to help us!"

"Of-of course!" Eruestan stammered, not quite sure how to process what he had just heard. "I'll talk to Irving, he'll stop Greagoir from—"

"NO!" they both shouted; Keili glared at them again from her corner. "You can't let anyone know that we know," Lily whispered. "If they find out, they'll cart Jowan off and we'll never see him again!"

"Well, then, what do you want me to do?" Eruestan hissed. "There's not much left, beyond smashing his phylactery and busting him out of the Tower…"

They both looked at him significantly.

"Oh, no," he said. "No, no, no, no, no."

"Please, Eruestan," Jowan begged, "you're my only hope. We need a real mage to get into the phylactery chamber, not an apprentice, and there's no one else here who will help us!"

"Jowan, do you realize what that means?" Eruestan said, horrified. "If I'm caught busting into the phylactery chamber…"

"It's not like yours is there, anyways!" he replied. "Your phylactery's been sent to Denerim, now that you're a mage. Besides, we won't get caught. Lily said they never send any guards down there, and the basement entrance is really hard to see from the guard post at the entrance to the Tower."

"I don't know…"

"Please," Jowan said. "You're my best friend; I can't do this without you…"

Eruestan looked down at the floor. "Fine," he said, "I'll help you."

"Oh, praise the Maker," Lily said. "Quickly, we need to act fast; if we wait too long, they'll haul you off before we get a chance!"

The three of them raced out of the chapel, leaving Keili to her prayers. Lily led them through the maze of hallways, flying up and down stairs, zooming through classrooms, until finally they found themselves at the archway leading to the Circle basement.

"Quickly, quickly," she muttered, looking around as she ushered them into the hallway. Eruestan blinked; it was much darker here than in the rest of the Tower. At the end stood a door unlike any other he'd ever seen before.

"That's the Victim's Door," Lily whispered as they drew nearer. "It's made of 177 planks, one for each of the original Templars, and it's why we need you."

"Do you want me to blast it down?" Eruestan murmured.

She shook her head. "No, it's easier than that. The door's designed to only open for a mage and a Templar together. The Templar provides a password, and the mage touches the door with mana. It's the only way."

"Oh," Eruestan said, glad he didn't have to blow anything apart. "But we don't have a Templar."

"You have me," Lily said, stepping forward and holding out a hand. "Sword of the Maker, Tears of the Fade," she said solemnly; there was a chiming sound that echoed slightly down the hall. "It's ready," she said. "Go!"

Eruestan nodded and pressed his hands together. Concentrating, he focused his energies and made them glow. Taking a breath, he stepped back and thrust his hands forward.

The instant the light touched the door, the planks within it shot back into the walls, creating an archway from nowhere.

"That's really cool," Eruestan gasped; Jowan, however, grabbed his hand and pulled him forward.

"C'mon!" he yelled. "We don't have time!"

The three began racing down another hallway. If the Tower was a maze, the basement was a labyrinth; there were more twists and turns down here than Eruestan had ever seen. Lily, however, seemed to know exactly where she was going.

"This is the door to the phylactery chamber," she said abruptly, stopping in front of a giant oak door. "Eruestan, now you can blast it down."

"Wonderful," Eruestan said, a little wildly. "Jowan, could you…"

"Right." The two mages closed their eyes, muttered the same word, and thrust out their hands. There was a rush of heat and a flash of light…and then nothing.

Jowan opened his eyes and frowned. "That was supposed to work," he said.

Eruestan squinted and then gasped. "Sweet Andraste, look," he said, pointing to the doorframe. "Those runes will negate every spell we throw at this thing."

Lily paled. "Is there any way past them?"

He shook his head.

"No!" she cried. "We've gotten so far! We can't fail now!"

Eruestan bit his lip and looked around, trying to find ideas. It was then that he saw the other hallway.

"Look," he said, pointing. "It's a bit of a stretch, but we might be able to find another entrance down that corridor."

"Do you really think that'll work?"

He shrugged. "It's not like we have any other options."

"Good point." They made off down the hallway. This one was a straight shot down to an oak door. Two statues stood at either side.

"You don't think this'll be locked, do you?" Lily asked.

"Let's find out," Eruestan said. He stepped forward and pushed it open.

"Excellent!" he cried. Then, a stone arm knocked him to the ground.

Dazed, he looked up to see the two statues slowly come to life in front of them. They were both dressed as Templars, and neither looked too friendly. This became particularly evident when the one closest to him lunged at him with its sword.

Rolling out of the way, Eruestan had barely enough time to register Lily and Jowan's screams before the statue attacked again. Trying not to panic, the elf waved his hand and pointed at the statue, sending a small bolt of electricity flying at it. Instead of shattering to pieces, the statue absorbed it and moved forward.

"Guys," Eruestan said, struggling to keep his voice calm, "I don't think we're supposed to be down here."

"Gee, what tipped you off?" Jowan snapped as he shoved Lily away from a sword swipe. "What are we supposed to do?!"

"I don't know!" Eruestan cried, ducking from another swipe. "Magic isn't working!"

Before he could hear Jowan's respond, the statue cracked its arm across his chest, throwing him to the ground. Gasping for breath, he realized he had likely broken his ribs. Struggling in vain to crawl out of the way, he closed his eyes in horror as the statue approached him and put his arm up to it, trying feebly to ward it off.

Suddenly, the statue stopped advancing. Eruestan fluttered his eyes open and saw that he had pressed a panel on its breastplate, illuminating a rune he had not previously seen that seemingly deactivated it.

"The breastplate!" he wheezed, clutching his side. "Press the breastplate!"

Jowan grunted in response and tried to attack; Lily, however, was faster and slipped in, demobilizing it.

"Thanks!" Jowan said, running over. "Are you all right?"

"I will be in a second." He closed his eyes and muttered a few words. With a flash of blue light and a slight rush of heat, his injuries healed.

"I don't like it down here," Lily murmured as the elf climbed to his feet.

"Can't imagine why," Eruestan growled. "There's something beyond this door that they don't want us to see."

"Let's find out what it is," Jowan said. Stepping forward, he pushed the door opened…and gasped in surprise.

It was an absolutely massive chamber, stretching on far into the distance and filled with the most bizarre magical artifacts Eruestan had ever seen. There were odd plants that moved when they walked past them; a giant globe that turned gently by itself and showed weather patterns; ancient spellbooks written in what appeared to be blood on human skin; twisted staves made of wood, stone, bone and metal; essentially, anything and everything you could possibly imagine. It was a deeper display of magic than Eruestan had ever seen.

"Look at this," Jowan breathed, standing in front of an extremely lifelike statue. It was of a beautiful woman, looking west, every bit of her face rendered in perfect detail.

"It's almost as if she just turned to stone," Lily said in awe.

_Quod factum_, a voice said in Eruestan's head.

He froze and looked at Jowan and Lily, who both seemed horrified. "Did you just—"

"I think it's from the statue!" Lily gasped.

_Ego no sum malum, avicula_, the voice said. _Ego sum lapidum. Obtusa._

"What's it saying?" Lily asked, voice catching.

"It's speaking Tevinter," Eruestan said, amazed. "It's telling you it means you no harm."

"What is this?" Jowan asked.

_Ego sum Eleni Zinovia. Ego erat concubine Valerius, rex Tevinterium. Fuit donum prophetiae. Heu, providebam finem Valerius, et sic puniri. _

_ "_She was turned to stone for foretelling the death of her lover," Eruestan translated, taken aback.

"Should we help her?" Jowan asked.

_Clamabunt enit me. Diutius quam vivam. Vos festinandum. Te parum tempos._

"She's right," Eruestan said. "We don't have much time."

"Oh, thank the Maker," Lily said as the moved forward. "That is evil magic, not to be trifled with."

"If it could get me out of here, I wouldn't mind trifling," Jowan said. "I'm kidding!" he said hurriedly after seeing the look on Eruestan and Lily's faces. He furrowed his eyebrows and started looking at the walls. "Hmm…if you look at this stonework, I think it almost matches the walls outside the phylactery chamber."

Eruestan ran his hand against the stone. "I think you're right."

"Look!" Lily said, pointing to an area few feet down. "That section of the wall is almost falling apart!"

Eruestan turned to Jowan. "Do you think we could break it down?"

The other mage shrugged. "Worth a shot."

For the second time, the two friends drew in their energies, muttered a few words, and thrust their hands before them. This time, however, their spells worked.

* * *

As the dust and rubble cleared in the basement, a young mage raced up the stairs in the Tower above. Not stopping to catch her breath, she lost all sense of propriety, forcing her way into the First Enchanter's office without knocking first.

"Knight Commander," Keili gasped, ignoring the two old men's complaints, "I have an incident to report…"

* * *

Downstairs, Eruestan and Jowan cheered as the wall to the next chamber crumbled before them.

"Excellent!" Eruestan said, stepping through. "Are we in?"

Lily followed him and nodded excitedly. "This is it!" she whispered. "Follow me."

The three of them raced up a small flight of stairs and turned a corner. They suddenly found themselves in a chamber filled with small bottles of blood.

"These are the phylacteries of every apprentice in the tower," Lily said, making her way through the collection. "It's too bad we didn't do this earlier, Eruestan; we could have gotten yours before they sent it off to Denerim."

"I'm fine, thanks," Eruestan said, looking around. "Let's just focus on finding Jowan's."

"I can almost sense it, actually," Jowan said. His eyes were closed, his arms held out in front of him. "It's like I can hear my own heartbeat, but apart from my body." Walking toward the center of the room, he closed his eyes and abruptly turned to the right, traipsing his hands along the tops of the vials. "It's this one!" he announced, opening his eyes.

Eruestan looked over and sighed. "No, that's someone named Harvey's. Look, his name's on it." He looked back at the group he was going over. "Jowan, this one's yours."

The three of them gathered around the tiny crystal bottle bearing the name "Jowan Rone". Jowan took ahold of it somberly, an odd look on his face.

"It's so strange," he murmured. "This little bottle is all that stands between me and my freedom….and just like that" (he let it slip from his fingers) "it's all gone…"

There was the expected shattering noise, but then an odd, gentle whispering, as if echoes had been released from a cavern.

"I'm free," he whispered.

There was an enormous boom from outside the chamber, and before any of them knew what was going on, Irving, Greagoir, and several Knights Templar filed into the room.

"What in the name of the Maker is going on here?" Greagoir thundered, fury in his eyes. He looked down at the puddle of blood at Jowan's feet. "You…you have broken your phylactery…"

Irving looked horrified. "Eruestan, Jowan," he said, "please, explain what has happened…"

Eruestan was numb from horror and shame. "Sers, I…I can…"

"Silence!" Greagoir roared, spit flying. "You have broken the most sacred rule of this Tower! You have aided the escape of an apostate and a maleficar!"

"No!" Lily cried. "Jowan is no maleficar!"

"I said _silence!_" Greagoir snapped, glaring at her. "Especially from you! You are a priestess of the Chantry! Your duty is to help keep men like this in the Tower!"

"Ser, you've made a—"

"Men," Greagoir yelled, "arrest this woman and take her straight to Aeonar."

Eruestan felt his blood turn to ice. Aeonar was an ancient Tevinter fortress now used as a prison for mages and enemies of the Chantry. Those who were sent there were never seen again.

"N-no," Lily stammered, stepping back as two of the guards approached her. "P-please, not Aeonar, anything b-but that…"

Eruestan opened his mouth to say something; however, before he could, Jowan stepped in front of the both of them.

"NO!" he screamed. "I WON'T LET YOU TOUCH HER!"

By the time Eruestan realized what he was doing, it was too late. Fast as sin, Jowan pulled a dagger from under his robes and plunged it into his wrist. Fighting back the pain, he muttered several words in a tongue that Eruestan didn't recognize before thrusting his hand forward at Irving, Greagoir, and the Templars. To his horror, he saw the Templars closest to him freeze in shock before having their necks snapped in a rush of magic. The remaining targets were thrown against the back wall, unconscious.

Never before had Eruestan been more stunned than when he was at that moment. "Jowan," he said, "that was…you just did blood magic…"

The other mage looked chagrined. "It's not what it looks like, I promise!" he said. "I only ever tried to make me a better mage!"

Eruestan backed away from him, terrified. "I trusted you, Jowan," he said, still stunned. "I…I never…"

"I was going to give it up!" Jowan pleaded. "After I got out of here, I was going to give up all magic for…for Lily…" At this he turned around slowly to where she was, huddled in a corner.

"Lily," he whispered, coming towards her, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Don't come near me!" she shrieked, pressing herself further against the wall. "Stay back, maleficar!"

Jowan stopped in his tracks, wounded. "Lily, it's me," he said in disbelief. "It's Jowan!"

"I don't know who you are," she snarled, her face distorted in hatred and wrath. "Get away from me!"

"Lily, I—"

"GET AWAY!"

Jowan shrunk back as she lunged at him, swiping at his feet. Obviously floundering, he looked around and latched onto Eruestan's face.

"Eruestan," he said weakly, "please, it's me, you know I'd never—"

"Lily's right, Jowan," Eruestan growled. "We don't know who you are. Get out of here now."

Jowan looked as though someone had smacked him across the face. "I'm…I'm sorry, Eruestan," he said. With that, he stabbed his hand again, and disappeared.

Eruestan fell to his knees. "I can't believe it," he said. "My best friend…"

"At least you didn't agree to sleep with him," Lily said coldly. "Here, help me." She ran over to where Greagoir was lying unconscious and began to slap his face. "Knight Commander," she said cried, "please, you must wake up…"

"What in Andraste's grace happened?" Greagoir groaned, pulling himself into a seated position.

"I aided a blood mage, ser," Lily said, "and he attacked you."

"No, that wasn't what happened," Eruestan said, staring at her in confusion. "Lily didn't know, she'd never have done anything if she knew—"

"You've already helped me so much, friend," Lily replied with a slight smile, "but I must take responsibility for what I've done. Knight Commander, First Enchanter, I fully assisted a blood mage in his escape from Circle Tower. I humbly submit myself to whatever punishment you see fit."

"Oh, get her out of my sight," Greagoir snapped; the remaining Templars jerked her to her feet and carted her away.

The Knight Commander turned to Eruestan. "And now, what should we do with you…"

"I was going to ask the same question," another voice rang out behind him; everyone turned around to see Duncan enter the chamber.

"Duncan," Greagoir said, a vein suddenly emerging in his forehead, "this is strict Tower business, there is no need for your interference."

"Unfortunately, Knight Commander, I disagree," Duncan replied. "I believe that this elf would be an ideal recruit for the Grey Wardens."

Eruestan thought he might cry. The plot twists and mood swings of one day were getting to him.

"A Grey….never," Greagoir said, crossing his arms. "This boy has betrayed the Tower, unleashed a dangerous apostate upon the world, and for all we know dabbled in the black arts himself! I would not be fulfilling my duties if I let him go."

"Fortunately for all of us, my duties override yours," Duncan retorted. "I don't believe I need to remind you that I have the Right of Conscription on my side. Any man I see fit to join our order, I have the right to recruit, even if he lies under the scrutiny of the law."

Greagoir's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I would. Eruestan would make an excellent warden, I'm sure of it."

Greagoir frowned. "Fine," he said. "You can take the elf. However, if you do, you cannot take any other mages from this Tower."

There was a brief pause as Duncan thought this over. Deep inside Eruestan, there was an immense sense of an extremely important decision being made, a turning point in his life that would forever leave him changed.

"I accept," Duncan said. "I will take Eruestan with me."

"Then it is done," Greagoir spat. "I will now ask you to leave this Tower."

"Accepted. Follow me, Eruestan." The elf didn't move; the emotions were too great. "Eruestan?"

"Y-yes…" Totally numb, Eruestan moved forward past the Knight Commander, who stared him down, and the First Enchanter, who looked at him with eyes half disgusted, half proud. Embarrassed, he kept his head down and followed the Grey Warden out of the chamber.

"I won't be expecting any thank yous," Duncan said clearly as they left the room. "What I did back there was not out of consideration to you, it was for the good of Ferelden."

"I understand." Eruestan bit his lip. He had the feeling that he was embarking on something great, something legendary. This feeling, combined with a will to forget what had just happened, made him try his hardest to push his emotions aside. "So will we be heading straight to Ostagar?"

Duncan shook his head. "The darkspawn horde is moving slowly enough through the Wilds that we have time enough for one more stop."

"Oh? Where?"

The Warden gave him a half smile. "The seat of the Teyrn of Highever, Castle Cousland."


	6. A Letter to the King

_King Cailan, let us bring up the subject of your heir…_

_ I submit to you…that you might put Anora aside…_

_ Her ability to bear a child lessens with each month…_

Loghain Mac Tir took an unsteady breath and nestled back in his chair. "Politics," he spat, "all it is is politics."

He mulled this over for a moment; then, with a bellow of rage, he flipped over his desk.

How dare Eamon do this? How dare he even suggest it? How could a man who had previously called him friend ever suggest that Cailan leave Anora, Loghain's only child? It was disgusting.

And who would replace her? Who could fulfill the duties of the Queen of Ferelden as easily as Anora Mac Tir? Bryce Cousland's daughter instantly came to mind: young and beautiful, with an extremely large dowry and a name more powerful than his own. Yet the girl was known to be headstrong and impulsive, preferring to play the warrior rather than sit down and drink tea. She would never agree to be queen, and her father would never force her.

No, Loghain knew exactly whom Eamon had in mind, and it was a betrayal worse than death.

"Celene," he hissed through his teeth. That dirty bastard Eamon. To even hint that the solution to Ferelden's problems could possibly lie with the Whore Empress of Orlais, a nation of lechers and thieves whose only desires were to enslave Ferelden was an act of stupidity that Loghain could hardly wrap his mind around. Did Eamon not remember how the Orlesians butchered his own father? Did he not remember how Redcliffe had suffered during Ferelden's war for independence?

That was the problem, Loghain decided; no one remembered how it was. Not in the old days. No one remembered the liberties taken by the chevaliers, the taxes, the rapes, the murders. No one remembered the burning villages, the crying children, the slaughtered families. No one remembered the stack of heads piled in the market in Denerim. No one remembered Meghren, the mad Orlesian King of Ferelden, who danced on the bent backs of Loghain's countrymen and treated them as playthings. No one remembered...except him.

Everything that was now was a lesser version of what had been, he thought grimly. Bryce and Eleanor Cousland had gone soft, taking holidays to Val Royeaux and buying foreign furniture. Arl Wulf had long since isolated himself in West Hill. Even Cailan was just a weak-minded, watered-down version of the hero King Maric, Loghain's greatest friend. And as for Eamon and Teagan…well, that wasn't fair. Anyone would pale in comparison to their sister.

But that wasn't important right now. What was important was that Anora kept her throne.

But how to do that? Telling Cailan off would only push him in the opposite direction, while confronting Eamon would only reveal that he had been reading his letters. If only there was a way to keep Anora close to Cailan at all times, to not give him the chance to look elsewhere; but with this blasted Blight…it would be impossible. His daughter did not belong on a battlefield. He would have to find a different solution…

Loghain stopped and blinked. An idea had occurred to him. _No, I can't. This is Maric's son. To do that would be…_ He had a brief vision of Celene sitting next to Cailan on the throne. _Never. I would rather die than allow that. _He looked ahead for a moment, then bent down and threw Eamon's letter into the fire. He knew what he had to do.


	7. The Couslands

Rowena Cousland glowered at the knight standing across from her. He was easily a foot and a half taller than her and bore a longsword that gleamed wickedly in the morning sun.

"Whenever you're ready, my lady," he said, "I don't want to OOOMPH." He was cut off by her foot, which collided directly with his midriff and knocked him to the ground.

"Nice try, Rory," Rowena said, standing over his head, "but I'm afraid you're going to have to leave chivalry to the professionals."

"I wouldn't have to if you would," the knight grumbled, reluctantly letting her help him to his feet. "You're lucky I'm afraid of you, my lady, elsewise I'd tell you you're downright unnatural."

"Women fight all the time, Rory," Rowena said. "Ser Cauthrien's the most respected knight in Ferelden, and she's a woman. Also, for the four-hundred-and-fifty-thousandth time, don't call me 'my lady.'"

"Didn't know you could count that high, my lady," he said. "Honestly, do you know what your lady mother would do to me if she caught me calling you Rowena? I may be afraid of you, but I'm terrified of Her Ladyship."

Rowena rolled her eyes. "Mother's nothing to be afraid of."

"Yeah, and I bet if I were her daughter I'd think that, too." He jammed his sword into the ground and leaned on it. "I'm surprised she even lets you out here at all."

"You and every other nobleman in Ferelden." She yawned and leaned against a fencepost. "Personally I think everyone's just jealous that they aren't as good as me."

"Or as modest," Ser Gilmore said, grinning.

Rowena scowled at him. "It's not bragging if it's true. I mean, look at me." Without skipping a beat, she picked up her sword and flung it through the air, impaling a stuffed dummy on the other side of the courtyard. "How many people can do that?"

"Not many," the knight admitted. "However, that may not have been the brightest move…" He moved forward, yanking his sword from the earth. "For you see, now, you have no weapon, whereas I…"

That was as far as he got before Rowena's foot collided with his abdomen once more.

"You know, one of these days I'm going to win one of these," he wheezed, clutching his side.

"I'm sure you will," she said sweetly. "Now here, let me help you up…"

She bent over and grabbed his arm; however, at that moment, a door leading to the training grounds opened and a servant tumbled out.

"Lady Rowena!" she called. "Your father's called for you!"

"Oh, excellent!" Rowena cried, spinning around; Ser Gilmore fell back to the ground with a clang. "I'll be back soon, Rory!" she called over her shoulder; the best reply he could muster was a wan little moan before collapsing into the earth.

Rowena raced through the walls of Castle Cousland, hair streaming behind her. For weeks all anyone at Highever had been talking about was the darkspawn to the south; her father had been assembling his army the day since the king's appeal had arrived, and she was certain this was the reason why he had asked for her. However, as she approached the side door to the castle's main hall, it became clear that he was engaged in a heated argument with someone on the other side.

"What do you mean, they won't be here for another three days?" Teyrn Bryce Cousland snapped. "The king called for troops a month ago! What could have possibly delayed you?"

"There was a last minute issue with the supply carts, my lord," the other man said. "My men will be here as soon as they are able."

"Maker's breath, Rendon, they won't even need you down south by the time they get here!"

Rowena started; she hadn't known that Rendon Howe had arrived. The Arl of Amaranthine, Howe was one of her father's oldest friends. He had been expected at Highever for days; the fact that his men had not accompanied him was extremely odd.

"The delay was beyond my control, my lord," Arl Howe replied. "I assure you, they'll be here in time to ride to Ostagar."

"By the Maker, stop being so damned formal, Rendon! We've known each other since we were boys!" Bryce sighed. "Well, what's done is done. We'll just have to send Fergus ahead with my men before Cailan gets worried."

"I expect you'll be sending your daughter as well?"

Rowena took this to be her cue. Pushing the door open, she cleared her throat and said "You called for me, Father?"

Bryce glanced over and grinned. "Ah, there you are, Pup! I was starting to worry we'd never pull you off the field." He wrapped her in a bear hug and turned back to his friend.

"Lady Rowena, as beautiful as ever," Arl Howe said, bowing. His eyes swept over her armor. "And still a fighter, I see…how very…unique…"

Rowena rolled her eyes. If she had a sovereign for every time she'd been called both "beautiful" and "unique" she could have paved the streets of Denerim in gold. Her father, however, chuckled and ruffled her hair. "I take it Delilah hasn't taken up archery in her free time?"

"No, I'm afraid that area of her education is a bit lacking," Howe smiled. A pensive look crept into his eyes. "Say, Bryce, how old is she now?"

"17 and as willful as ever," the teyrn said, smiling proudly. "Eleanor's been waiting for her to mellow out for years."

"17…" Howe paused. "You know, that's exactly how old my Thomas is. You don't suppose it'd be time to set up a betrothal between the two?"

The arl's voice trailed off as he saw the wicked grins on both of the Cousland's faces. "What?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing, Rendon," Bryce said, eyes widened in innocence. "It's just, are you sure Thomas would make a faithful husband to my daughter?"

"What? Of course he would!"

"Oh, I don't know, Your Lordship," Rowena said. "After all, I've heard he has a history of cheating…"

"What on…oh, very funny," Howe said as the other two collapsed into a fit of giggling. "In my son's defense, he was very young at the Denerim tournament – you can hardly blame him for seeking whatever advantage he could take."

"Pup here was just as old as Tom was, and she still managed to thrash him soundly in the finals without any 'advantages'," the teyrn said. "But then you can hardly blame her for her sheer talent, can you?"

If Rowena had been paying attention, she might have seen the flash of steel in the arl's eyes at that moment. She was not, however, and so she noticed nothing as Howe began to chuckle along with them. "Fair enough, Bryce, fair enough," he conceded. "But perhaps we could forget the events of the past and look towards the future?"

"You'll have to ask Pup for that," Bryce said, amused. "Forcing my daughter into marriage would only incite a wrath far worse than any Blight."

Howe smirked. "Surely you don't intend to let the girl _choose_ for herself, Bryce."

"I don't see why not," the teyrn said mildly. "In the end, Pup's happiness is what's important. Hell, my son married an Antivan – why shouldn't my daughter be as free to follow her heart?"

"Still, though, she must learn to take orders at some point." At this, Rowena let out a little scoff. "You disagree, do you, my lady?"

"Of course I do," she said. "If I marry, it won't be at anyone's command, nor will it be to anyone who wants to order me around for the rest of my life."

"Noble ambitions," Howe said. "Although that is an attitude that might prove inconvenient on the battlefield."

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Your Lordship?" Rowena shot back, bristling. "Weren't you ordered to have your armies here more than two days ago?"

"Maker, she has you there, Rendon, doesn't she?" Bryce chuckled, wrapping his arm around his daughter. "Hard to get anything past her!"

The arl gave a forced smile. "A worthy adversary both on and off the field," he said. "King Cailan will very much appreciate her presence at Ostagar."

"Oh, yes, Father, about that," Rowena said, turning around. "Am I leaving with Fergus, or am I riding down with you, or…what's the matter?" she asked, noticing the rising look of discomfort on her father's face.

"I've been meaning to tell you, Pup," the teyrn said, eyebrows furrowed. "I've been milling it over for a while, and…well, I've decided I want you to stay here while we're down south."

"_What?_" It was hard to tell who sounded more shocked, Howe or Rowena. "Father, you can't leave me here!" Rowena cried. "I've been planning on going to Ostagar for months!"

"I know, Pup, I know, but with so many of our men leaving, I need someone to defend Highever—"

"Have Mother do that!" Rowena interrupted. "She fought in King Maric's Rebellion!"

"Pup, that was thirty years ago," Bryce said. "Your mother hasn't had to fight for decades, she wouldn't know the first thing about fighting darkspawn—hell, I hardly know anything about it myself."

"Like there are going to be any darkspawn at Highever!" she protested. "The best way to defend the teyrnir is to make sure we defeat them down south! The king _needs _me!"

"She has a point, my lord," Howe said. "A warrior of your daughter's caliber would be very useful on the field."

"Let's keep this between my daughter and myself, Rendon," the teyrn said, frowning. "And Pup, as much a help you'd be, there are still reasons why I need you up here."

"What could be so important that you need me to—"

"Your brother and I are both headed to Ostagar," Bryce said. "In the case where neither of us return, someone needs to inherit Highever in our stead."

"Oh, please, like you're not going to return from battle," Rowena snapped. "Besides, you already have Oren—"

"Oren is four, Pup. I think he'll understand if I don't peg him as first choice for my heir."

It was getting harder to fight against his logic. "But Father," she began, struggling to find an angle to go off of. However, at that moment the doors to the hall flew open, catching her mid-sentence. Turning around, she took a look at the man who walked in and felt her jaw drop.

The first thing that came to mind were all the stories Nan and Aldous had told her as a child about pirates and raiders from the North. Dark skin, a ponytail, gold earrings – all he was missing was a peg-leg and a foul-mouthed parrot. However, as he drew closer, Rowena realized that his armor was of far too fine a caliber for him to be a petty sea raider. His companion further ruined his image – a timid, pale elf who was looking about as if he'd never seen a castle before. She then saw his robes and blushed; he was a mage and therefore probably hadn't.

"Duncan!" her father cried. "This is quite a surprise! What brings you here?"

"Nothing too unpleasant, I assure you," the man said, bowing. He turned towards the other man and bowed again. "Arl Howe, a pleasure to see you once more."

"My lord, this is highly improper," Howe whined to the teyrn. "I had no idea you were to be hosting a Grey Warden – there is protocol to follow, ceremonies to be had—"

"Protocol be damned," Bryce said. "This is a Blight, Rendon, not a cotillion!" He turned to his daughter. "Pup, Aldous has taught you about the Grey Wardens, hasn't he?"

Rowena paled. "Erm…they stop Blights, I know that…and they're very great warriors…and then something about griffins?"

The teyrn smiled apologetically. "Pup here was never much of one for her studies," he said. "Duncan, I present to you my daughter, Lady Rowena Cousland."

Duncan bowed. "A pleasure to meet you at last, my lady," he said. "I was fortunate enough to witness your performance at the Denerim tourney – you have a grace with a sword that is decades beyond your years."

This was a compliment far beyond "beautiful" and "unique". "T-thank you, ser," she said, taken aback.

He smiled and motioned to the elf beside him. "May I introduce you all to the Order's newest recruit from the Circle of Magi, Ser Eruestan Surana."

"A pleasure to meet you, ser," Bryce said.

"Thank you," the elf stammered; Rowena saw that the tips of his ears were bright red.

The teyrn turned back to Duncan. "So, really, what brings you up north, Duncan? Surely Highever doesn't have much to offer your order…"

"Actually, there is one man I have in mind," Duncan said. "A Ser Roderick Gilmore?"

Bryce grinned broadly. "Rory Gilmore? Why, he's an excellent choice! A fine lad, skilled with a blade as well. Pup, you wouldn't know where Ser Gilmore is, would you?"

Rowena smiled and scratched the back of her neck. "I believe I last left him writhing on the training grounds…I doubt he'll have moved very far since."

Duncan's eyes twinkled. "I hope lying around isn't a habit of his?"

"More like Pup here has a habit of besting everyone she crosses," the teyrn said, grinning.

"An ideal candidate for the Grey Wardens, then," Arl Howe said. "I'm sure Duncan would appreciate her presence should this Blight turn serious."

"I can't deny that," the Warden said. "Your daughter's reputation precedes her. It would be an honor to have her in our order."

Rowena's eyes lit up. "Oh, yes, Father, please!" she cried, spinning around. "That'd be…absolutely…brilliant…" Her voice trailed off as she glanced at her father's face.

"Absolutely. Not," he said, teeth clenched.

Rowena was shocked. She had never seen him this upset before. "But Father—"

"No, Rowena! No child of mine will ever sign their lives over to the Grey Wardens!" He glared at Duncan. "Don't think I don't know the sacrifices your people make, Duncan. My daughter joins you, she gives up any claim to title, land, even marriage. I won't allow it!"

"In all fairness, you don't have to," Howe chimed in. "Duncan still has the Right of Conscription."

For a second it looked like the teyrn was going to punch his friend. "Shut up, Rendon."

"Your Lordships, please," Duncan said. "No one is being conscripted. As I said before, I am strictly here for Ser Gilmore." The teyrn didn't look convinced. "Your daughter is safe, Bryce," Duncan said gently. "I would never dream of taking her in without both your and Eleanor's consent."

Bryce relaxed. "Very well; so long as we're clear…" He smiled weakly and shook his head. "Anyways, Duncan, I hope you weren't planning on leaving directly – there's been a delay."

The Warden frowned. "I hope it's a short one," he said. "The armies of Highever and Amaranthine are among the largest in Ferelden – they would be sorely missed on the battlefield."

"My eldest leaves with my own men in an hour," the teyrn explained. "It's this lout who's holding us up."

"Perhaps we could discuss this in a more…_private_ location?" Arl Howe sniffed, looking down on Rowena and the elven Warden-Recruit.

"As you wish," Bryce shrugged. "Pup, why don't you show Eruestan here to the guest quarters?"

"Let me go to Ostagar, and I'll even take him to the library," she said.

"As much as I recognize how large a sacrifice that would be for you, I still have to say no." He held up a hand as she began to protest, cutting her off. "Running the castle is a major honor and responsibility. Please, try to see that."

Realizing she had been defeated, Rowena slumped her shoulders and pouted. "Fine," she sulked, "but don't expect me to like it."

"That would be moronic, Pup," he teased; she grinned in spite of herself. "Anyways, make sure you run and catch Fergus, too – he'll be leaving soon." His face fell as hers brightened. "Don't get any ideas about sneaking down south with him, either – I've already spoken with him about this."

She scowled. "Whatever you say, Father." Smiling apologetically, Bryce turned back to Duncan and Howe and began to lead them out of the hall.

Rowena watched them exit, seething in disappointment. "Oh, blast it," she muttered, kicking at a loose stone. To her horror, it flew through the air and collided with the nearest guard's nose with a sickening crack.

"Oh, Andraste's ass, I'm so sorry!" she cried, running up to him. "Are you all right?"

"I'mb fine, by lady," he said thickly, hand pressed to his face; blood spurted through his fingers as though someone was pumping wine through his nostrils.

"Here," someone said, "I think I can help." Rowena looked around to see the elven Warden-Recruit step forward, right hand outstretched. "Hold still, ser," he said firmly, eyes closed. Taking a deep breath, he scrunched his face and muttered a word in a language Rowena didn't understand. Suddenly, there was a flash of blue light, a slight crackling noise, and the guard's nose popped back into shape.

Rowena whistled – she rarely had the chance to see magic first hand like that. "Thank you," the guard said, poking his nose in wonder.

"My pleasure," the elf said. The guard bowed and continued on his way; Rowena waited until he had left the room to sigh loudly.

"Thank you_ so_ much, I'm always worried I'm going to accidently start a mutiny if I'm not careful."

He blushed. "It's nothing, really – it's just a minor healing spell, any mage could do it."

"Well, I think it's brilliant," she said firmly. "I wish I could do that."

"Are you admitting to something that you can't do, my lady?" someone said from behind; she glanced over to see Ser Gilmore stride over, grinning. "Maker forbid!"

"Glad to see you picked yourself back up, Rory," she jabbed back. "I was worried you'd broken something."

"You're not always that lucky, my lady. Who's this?" he asked, noticing the elf.

"Oh, right – Ser Gilmore, I'd like to introduce you to the newest Grey Warden recruit, Eruestan…Something from the Circle."

"A pleasure to meet you, Ser Something," Ser Gilmore said, bowing. "It isn't every day that you meet a Grey Warden."

"It's actually Surana," Eruestan said. "And if things go to plan, you'll find yourself meeting more than your fair share of Grey Wardens."

"Come again?"

"Oh, that's right!" Rowena gasped. "You're why they're here, Rory. They want to recruit you."

Ser Gilmore blinked. "They want…to recruit _me_?" A wild grin broke across his face. "But that's brilliant! The Grey Wardens are the most respected warriors in all of Thedas! I can't believe they want me!"

"Believe me, I know the feeling," Eruestan said.

Ser Gilmore waved him off. "Surely you're a very gifted mage – that's the only reason they would have let you out of the Circle."

The elf became very still. "No, there were a few other reasons…"

The knight shrugged. "All the same, I'm sure you'll make a strong ally against the darkspawn." He turned back to Rowena. "I can't believe they didn't ask for you, my lady."

She rolled her eyes. "He tried, but my father turned him down."

"He did? That's a surprise."

"Let's not talk about it," Rowena said, scowling. "Anyways, if you're looking for the commander, he left with my father and Arl Howe for the study."

"Excellent! I'll head there now!" He turned to go; however, he suddenly froze and spun back around. "Actually, I won't be. I forgot I was supposed to take you to your mother."

"Oh, Maker's breath, what now?" she groaned. "I just wrote all those thank-you notes for her only two days ago!"

"Yes, well, this time you can blame your dog. He's gotten into the larder again."

Rowena grinned. Her Mabari warhound broke into the kitchens about twice a month and always sent everything to hell. "How many times has Nan threatened to quit?"

"Four, as of fifteen minutes ago." He smiled in spite of himself. "Anyways, Her Ladyship sent me to bring you back to her."

"Can't I just go to the larder and bring Cormac back myself? Why does she have to see me first?"

"I'm not sure, my lady. All I know is that between chasing down a Mabari and angering the teyrna, I'd choose the hound every time."

She sighed again and turned back to her guest. "I hope you don't mind if we take a slight detour?"

Eruestan shook his head. "My duties here are to 'sit still and try not to think about the fact that you're now destined to fight darkspawn until you die'; I don't think Duncan would mind if I shirked them for a bit."

"Believe me, if you can face Her Grace, no darkspawn will ever faze you," Ser Gilmore said. "Follow me, then."

He led them out of the main hall, down a corridor, up a flight of stairs, and around a corner until they arrived in a spacious, well-lit room lined with plants and statues. A very polished voice could be heard over the soft sound of flowing water coming up from a nearby fountain.

"The room itself is as old as the castle, but Bryce and I had the idea to turn it into a conservatory only two years ago. Evidently it's all the rage in Orlais. I'm so glad you could finally see it." Hearing approaching footsteps, Teyrna Eleanor Cousland turned away from her guests and smiled as she saw whom it was. "Ah, there you are, darling. I expect Ser Gilmore's told you about your hound?"

"I don't know why we even bother any more," Rowena replied. "We might as well build a special door for him."

"Yes, I'm sure Nan would love that," the teyrna said drily. "Next we could suggest she let the servants take charge of the kitchen."

"Might make the food better," Rowena said.

"I rather think she'd poison us first," Eleanor shot back. "With that in mind, perhaps it might be best to avoid the trouble and try to please her?"

"I guess…" Rowena mumbled, "although Father did tell me to say goodbye to Fergus…"

"I'm asking you to go to the kitchens, darling, not Nevarra!" the teyrna said in exasperation. "You'll have plenty of time to say goodbye to Fergus later!"

Her daughter sighed. "Fine, fine, I'll go…" She turned to leave; however, before she could, someone gave a thin cough and said, "By the Maker, Eleanor, surely this isn't your daughter?" Cursing internally, Rowena turned around and gave what she hoped was a pleasant smile to her mother's guests.

"Ah, yes, of course, where are my manners? Darling, you remember Lady Landra, don't you?" The look Eleanor shot her clearly communicated that even if she didn't, she should pretend to.

Fortunately, Rowena had no need of such artifice. "Yes, you're the one who climbed on a table and started singing Rivaini pirate shanties at the spring salon, aren't you?"

Eleanor sighed. "My daughter, Landra, the diplomat."

Lady Landra sniffed and pursed her already thin lips. "Well, at the very least she has a good memory."

"Not that she'd have needed it, Mother," the young man standing next to her said bluntly. "We could have lit your breath on fire."

"Well, it was a very good brew," Lady Landra said, smiling forcedly. "Lady Rowena, this is my son, Lord Dairren. He's not married either."

"I believe my mother tried to marry us off the last time we met as well," Dairren said, bowing.

"Better not meet a third time, then," Rowena joked, curtsying back. "We might be forced to elope."

"There is nothing wrong with marriage between equals," Lady Landra said irritably. "Although I suppose it does pale in comparison to the joys of plunging your blade through someone's chest."

"I rather think they're comparable, Landra," the teyrna said, cutting off her daughter's outraged reply. "I myself was quite the battle-maiden during King Maric's Rebellion. But of course," she said quickly, appeasing the look on her friend's face, "I do credit the softer arts with getting myself a husband."

"It seems some of us greatly prefer one to the other," Lady Landra replied, her lips getting so thin Rowena was convinced they were about to collapse into themselves.

"A good thing, too," Dairren shot in. "Lady Rowena's presence will be most welcome down at Ostagar."

Rowena's mood darkened even further. "I'm afraid I won't be joining the king's forces down south," she said. "However, Sers Gilmore and Surana here will do just as well."

Eleanor started. "Oh, heavens, Landra, what is the matter with me today? Allow me to introduce to you Ser Roderick Gilmore and…" The teyrna blinked. "Forgive me, darling, but who on earth is this?"

"This is Eruestan Surana, Mother, from the Mage's Circle," Rowena explained. "He's the Grey Wardens' newest recruit."

"They let _elves_ in the Grey Wardens?" Lady Landra said in shock; the rest of the humans in the room looked to the floor, embarrassed.

Eruestan, however, merely shrugged and said, "I guess so."

"Well, at least you have your magic," Landra said. She pointed to the elven woman behind her. "Iona here never seems to do much of anything."

Iona blushed and curtsied. "How do you do, Your Ladyships?" she murmured.

"Hush, girl!" Landra hissed. "How dare you address your betters like that?"

"Landra, please, she's done nothing wrong," Eleanor said. "Come now, you've been traveling for days. Surely you want to get a little rest?"

Lady Landra yawned softly and nodded. "I must admit, that does sound lovely. The trip was rather…exhausting…"

"Of course," Eleanor smiled. She motioned to two elves standing at the edge of the room. "Please escort Lady Landra and her party to the guest chambers."

"I shall see you at dinner, Eleanor," Landra called as she was led out of the room; the teyrna smiled back until the doors closed, at which point she sighed loudly in relief.

"Sweet Andraste, but she smelled frightfully of ale," she said, rubbing her temples. "I think I'm going to have to lock the wine cellar again – but then, she's probably brought her own supply, hasn't she?"

"I'd be surprised if she can't secrete liquor at this point," Rowena said.

"You may not be too far off there." Eleanor sighed and smoothed her hair. "Well, I suppose I'd better find your brother before we send the men off."

"Here, I'll go with you—"

"Cormac, darling, Cormac!" The teyrna shook her head as she turned to leave. "Honestly, it's a wonder anything ever gets done around here…"

Scowling, Rowena turned to her companions. "Well, then, shall we head to the kitchens?"

"Lead the way, my lady," Ser Gilmore said. "Just so long as you don't think Nan's killed your hound by now – or the other way around, for that matter."

"You know as well as I do that Nan secretly loves Cormac," Rowena replied as she led them out of the conservatory. "She just likes to raise hell about him is all."

The knight shook his head. "You know, sometimes I wonder if your constant misinterpretation of the world that surrounds you is deliberate."

"Forgive me for asking," Eruestan shot in as they descended a flight of stairs. "But why is your cook called 'Nan'?'

"She used to be my nanny," Rowena explained, turning a corner; the distant sound of a dog barking was slowly becoming louder and louder. "My parents figured that anyone who could have done that for ten years and leave with her sanity was someone they wanted around, so they put her in charge of the kitchens." The shrill sound of a woman screaming could now be heard mixed in with the barking.

"Well, at least she's not swearing yet," Ser Gilmore said drily as they drew nearer to the doors.

"Give her five minutes," Rowena muttered. Gritting her teeth, she pushed the kitchen doors open and was instantly slapped in the face with an explosion of noise.

"Somebody get that filthy mutt out of my larder!" a short elderly woman shrieked at several nervous-looking elven servants, straining to be heard over the howls coming from the next room. "I have an entire army to feed and I can't do anything with a blasted mongrel eating up my stores!"

"B-but what do you want _us_ to do about it, ma'am?" one of the elves stammered. "That Mabari'd bite our hands off!"

"You'd be lucky to lose only that if you don't do something soon, you sodding lazy no good elves!" Nan shouted, her face turning red. "I'll tan your hides so well the teyrna will want to turn them into a rug!"

"This woman helped raise children?" Eruestan whispered in awe; Rowena snorted and stepped forward, hands raised.

"All right, Nan, I'm here," she began; however, before she could finish, the old woman started brandishing a cleaver in her face.

"YOU," she bellowed, looking slightly apoplectic. "How many bloody times do I have to bleeding tell you to keep that blighted mutt out of my sodding larder?"

"What can I say? He just really likes you!"

Nan was not amused. "Ten years, milady! I've dealt with that dirty mutt for ten blasted years!"

"He's a Mabari warhound, Nan, not a mutt," Rowena protested; however, at the look on her former nanny's face, she threw up her hands again in defeat. "Okay, okay, I'll get him out."

"And it's about bloody time," Nan growled. "Go on, then!"

Rowena rolled her eyes, grinned, and led her companions into the pantry. There, they found a dog the size of a small tiger barking vigorously at a barrel in the corner.

"That's a _dog_?" Eruestan asked in disbelief.

"Dog, bear, demon – it depends on who you ask, really," Ser Gilmore said.

Rowena ignored both of them and gave the dog a quick head-ruffle. "There you are, Cormy," she cooed. "How are you?"

The hound blinked and wagged his tail momentarily for his mistress before continuing to bark at the barrel.

"What's the matter, boy?" she asked, frowning.

"A dog hardly needs a reason to bark, my lady," Ser Gilmore said. "Mabari may be smart, but not everything they do is trying to tell us something."

"Cormac's smarter now than you'll ever be, Rory," she shot back. "You know he only comes here to eat – if he's barking, that means something." She paused and furrowed her eyebrows. "I think…I think there's something behind that barrel."

"I knew I'd be lifting something here," the knight groaned as he stooped down to help her move it.

"Well, then, you should have been prepared for this," Rowena grunted, pushing it back. "Now let's see what—"

She stopped as she saw what lay behind the barrel. Stretching out into the blackness was a small tunnel leading to Maker knew where.

"What on earth—"

At that moment, there was a slight rustling in the darkness, and suddenly something shot out of the tunnel and launched itself at her foot. Before she could react, Cormac lunged forward and buried his teeth into it. Shaking his head twice, he flung it vigorously at the wall, where it collided with a sound akin to the cracking of eggshells and slumped to the floor.

"What was that?" Ser Gilmore whispered.

Eruestan peered over the corpse. "It's a rat," he said in wonder. "A giant, deformed—"

Suddenly, Cormac started barking again, and a whole horde of rats started pouring out of the tunnel. With a yelp, Rowena smashed the first one's head in with her boot; a flash of steel from behind her told her that Ser Gilmore had drawn his blade.

Before either could act further, Rowena heard Eruestan mutter something under his breath, and suddenly a cone of fire rippled out from his fingers. For a few seconds, the rats shrieked in pain; then they all collapsed, smoking slightly.

Rowena stared in shock as the flames died down. "Nice trick," she said to the mage, who seemed to be blushing.

"Again, merely standard magic," he muttered.

Rowena turned to Ser Gilmore, who was still clutching his weapon with white knuckles.

"A sword against rats, Rory," she teased. "Very effective."

"I-I don't like rats," he stammered, obviously shaken.

"These aren't any ordinary rats," Eruestan said quietly, bending over the one that had been chucked against the wall. "Look at it."

Rowena peered at it and wrinkled her nose in disgust. Whatever had happened to these rats, it had not been pleasant. Not only were they three times the size of the other rats in Highever, but their bodies were also horribly mutated. Their faces had shriveled back, revealing wickedly sharp black teeth, and hideous spikes were shooting out of every inch of their bodies.

"That's revolting," Ser Gilmore said, pale.

Rowena nodded in agreement. "Here, help me block this again," she said shakily, motioning to the tunnel.

"Where do you think it leads?" Ser Gilmore grunted as they pushed the barrel back; she shrugged.

"Wherever it goes, I don't think it's very pleasant," Eruestan said.

Rowena wrinkled her nose again and patted her hound on the head. "Good boy, Cormac!" she cooed, smoothing his fur. "Finding all those nasty rats for us!"

"Yes, thank you ever so much," Ser Gilmore said weakly.

There was a loud rapping on the door. "Milady?" Nan called. "Is it done?"

"It's all right, Nan, we're coming out," Rowena shouted back. Pushing open the door, she found the entire kitchen staff gathered outside waiting expectantly.

"There you are, you filthy scoundrel," Nan snapped, pointing at Cormac. "I expect you've eaten all my stores, haven't you?"

"Actually, Nan, Cormac was _saving_ the larder," Rowena said. "He was trying to warn you about the rat swarm within the walls."

"Rat…_swarm_, milady?" one of the servants squeaked.

Rowena blinked. "Uh…well, I mean, 'swarm' may be a bit of an exaggera—"

"I don't want to work around a bunch of rats!" another elf said. "Those things spread disease, you know!"

Nan groaned. "Now look what you've done! Do you _ever_ think before you speak?"

Rowena smiled back feebly. "I can't tell if this is a good time or not to let you know that there are roughly fifteen smoldering rat corpses that need to be cleaned up in the larder."

Nan closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Remember, Greta, you signed up for this. This job is entirely your own doing."

"Have a good day, Nan!" Rowena called over her shoulder as the old woman disappeared into the back of the pantry.

"You know, one of these days she's going to kill someone," Ser Gilmore said as they turned to leave.

"Let's just hope she retires before then." They stepped out into the hallway and blinked at the light streaming in through the nearest window. "Where are you headed now?" Rowena asked the knight.

"To see that Grey Warden," he replied, grinning. "I wonder if there's some sort of test I need to pass or something…"

"Whatever it is, I hope it doesn't involve rats," Rowena said. "You'll never make it into the order then."

He sighed. "And just when I thought I'd slipped something past you…"

"Good luck," she said cheerfully; he grimaced in return and made his way back towards the main hall.

Rowena glanced back at her other companion. "I suppose I'd better finally take you to your quarters…unless, of course, we're needed to kill cockroaches in the dining room."

The elf bit his lip. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd actually much prefer being shown to the castle library."

Rowena stared at him in surprise. Willingly going to the library was a decision akin to willingly throwing oneself into the Waking Sea. "If you want, sure," she said dubiously, "although I will warn you, that is the lair of one of the dullest scholars in all of Thedas."

"I was raised by dull scholars," Eruestan said with a smile. "I'll feel right at home."

"Whatever you say, then," she said, shrugging. "It's actually just up these stairs and down the hall to your right – you couldn't miss it if you tried."

"Excellent!" Eruestan said, grinning. "I'll see you later then!"

She laughed in disbelief as he raced up the stairs. The elf was certainly different from most people she'd met.

At that moment, though, the castle's bells rang out, declaring the hour.

"Maferath's knickers!" she swore, "Fergus! Come on, Cormac!"

She and her dog began to tear through the halls of the castle, bursting through rooms and bounding up and down various flights of stairs. By the time they reached the entrance hall, both were panting loudly and covered in no small amount of spittle and sweat.

"Ah, there's my little sister!" a loud voice in the corner boomed; Rowena spun around to see her brother walk up to her and bury her in a bear hug. "I was beginning to worry I wouldn't see you before I left!"

"And miss finally being able to get rid of you? Never," she teasing, pulling herself away. "Although Mother certainly tried her best to keep me away…"

"Why would that be?" he asked. "Is she worried you might try to sneak down to Ostagar?"

"That, and Cormac got into the larder again."

Someone tsked from behind them; a moment later, Fergus' wife came to join them carrying her four-year-old son, Oren. "Yet again he invades the kitchens," Oriana purred in her thick Antivan accent. "It may be advisable to build a door there for him!"

"That's what I said!" Rowena said. "Mother, however, didn't think Nan would agree."

"And for good reason," Fergus said. "I'd take a Blight over an angry Nan any day."

"I guess it's a good thing you're the one headed down south, then, isn't it?" Rowena mumbled.

Fergus sighed. "Oh, no. Father warned me about this."

"Fergus, _please_," Rowena whined. "Just let me slip into the troops – I'll make a difference, you know I will, and—"

"Wena, come on," Fergus groaned. "You know I can't disobey Father like that. Besides, it'll be nice knowing you're here."

"Oh, for the love of – not you, too, Fergus!"

"Hey, it's true!" He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "If the legends of the Blights are true, these darkspawn will be fearsome creatures. I'm glad to know that you'll be here to defend the castle."

"Defend the castle from what, Papa?" Oren asked. "Will there be dragons?"

"I should hope not!" Oriana said. "Dragons are horrible creatures, Oren, you would not want to see one."

Her son paid her no heed. "Fear me and my sword of truthiness, dire bunnies! _I'm_ the lord of this castle!"

"Oh, Oren, really," Oriana began; Rowena, however, bent down quickly, cutting her off.

"Dire bunnies?" she asked. "But those are the worst kind! Where are they?"

Oren stopped and looked at her eagerly. "They're on the rapparts, Auntie! Let's go before they eat Granma!"

"That's 'ramparts', Oren, and, ah, _mia sorella_? Perhaps we might keep him here for now?" Oriana asked drily; Rowena winked and flung the giggling four-year-old over her shoulder. "Honestly, Fergus, your family…"

"What?" he asked. "He just cares about his grandmother."

"I like the sound of that," someone said; the group turned to see Bryce and Eleanor approach. "Although, I will say, dearest, that the ones we need most worry about are you and your father."

Her waved her off. "Oh, Mother, you worry too much! I'll be fine!"

"Your mother is right, Fergus!" Oriana said, touching her amulet of Andraste. "I must say my heart is very…disquiet."

"Fergus will be fine," Rowena said. "There are rumors that this isn't even a real Blight."

Oriana seemed to get more agitated at this. "Do not forget, _mia sorella_, the last Blight occurred in my country. Antiva was completely destroyed the last time these monsters came to the surface."

"Yeah, like 400 years ago," Rowena muttered under her breath; Eleanor, however, shot her a look that kept her from speaking up.

Oriana now had her head bowed. "_Santo Creatore_," she prayed, "watch over your children as we struggle against the fiends of darkness. Carry us in your heart, and provide shelter for us along our way."

"We wouldn't mind a few brothels, either, while you're at it!" Fergus chimed in, grinning broadly; however, his smile died away quickly when he saw the looks on his wife and mother's faces. "Erm…for the soldiers, of course."

"Honestly, Fergus, you would say such things in front of your mother?" Oriana said.

"What's a brothel, Papa?" Oren asked. "Is that where Nan gets broth for a stew?"

"A brothel is where men and women go to meet each other, Oren," Bryce explained. "And then do…other things."

"Bryce!" Eleanor scolded, hitting his shoulder. "Maker's breath, it's like raising two Mabari pups! Fortunately, I have…a daughter…" Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of Rowena, who was busy making a rather obscene gesture in response to her father's comment, much to her brother's amusement. Realizing she was being observed, she coughed loudly and ran a hand through her ponytail.

"So," she said, blushing, "when are you heading off?"

"Soon," Fergus said, still chuckling. "We're just waiting for Mother Mallol – the men will want a blessing before they leave."

"Ask, and the Maker responds," a voice said from the other side of the room. A handsome woman dressed in the robes of a Chantry priestess approached the Couslands and bowed. "My apologies, Your Grace. I was administering some last minute prayers in the chapel."

"No problem at all, Mallol," Bryce said. "We're still more that ahead of schedule."

"That being said, whenever you're ready, we should probably get started," Fergus said. "I want to have the whole day to travel."

Eleanor sighed and gave her son a long hug. "Do be careful, my darling boy."

"Don't you worry about me, Mother," he chuckled. He turned to his father. "I'll see you in a week, then, Father."

Bryce nodded and hugged his son as well. "Make sure the men have plenty of rest, and let Cailan know we're on our way. I'd hate for the battle to begin without us."

Oriana was crying softly by the time Fergus went to say goodbye. "Stay safe, _amore mio_," she said, trying to smile. "I shall count the minutes that you are away."

"I'll be sure to hurry home, then," Fergus said, smiling. He kissed her gently. "Don't cry, love. This, uh, _flagilla_, will be over before you can say 'archdemon'."

"It's '_flagello'_," she said, giggling through her tears. "We'll have to work on your Antivan once you get back."

"Bring me back a sword, Papa!" Oren cried from Rowena's shoulder. "I want to fight darkspawn, too!"

"You'll see a sword of your own soon enough, Oren," Fergus laughed, picking him up from his sister's back. "Now, be a good boy, listen to your mother, and help your auntie defend the castle while I'm gone."

Oren stared at him solemnly, nodded, and looked over to his aunt. "I am ottered to serve you, Lady Auntie."

"It's 'honored', Oren," Oriana began; Rowena, however, bowed just as solemnly and said, "Believe me, the otter is all mine."

Fergus chuckled and wrapped an arm around her, setting his son down. "I'm going to miss you, Wena."

"I'll miss you too," she said quietly. "Be sure to kill a lot of darkspawn for me."

"Shall I also send a certain royal someone your deepest regards?" he asked, winking.

She gave him a nasty look. "I was thirteen when I told you I fancied King Cailan, Fergus. Thirteen!"

"And now your love has fully blossomed!" Rowena responded to this with a swift kick to his shin.

"I hate to tear apart such an endearing farewell," Eleanor said as Fergus hopped around on one foot, swearing, "but I believe now would be a good time to send our troops off – provided, of course, their fearless leader is able to compose himself?"

"Almost there," he panted. "Good kick, Wena."

"I know," she replied smugly.

Fergus gave her a rude gesture, grinned broadly, and set his foot down. "All right, then. I suppose it's time."

He motioned to the servants standing at the edges of the entranceway. Bowing, they leapt forward and pushed open the massive oak doors, allowing sunlight to stream into the room.

Blinking, the Couslands stepped out onto the portico leading to the courtyard. Their soldiers filled the yard, spilling outside the walls and into the road leading to town. Upon seeing the teyrn's family, the crowd began to cheer loudly, pumping their fists and shaking their spears.

Rowena waved, smiling broadly even as her heart sank. This was supposed to be _her_ moment. _She_ was supposed to be cheering with them; _she _was supposed to be leaving with Fergus. It simply didn't seem fair.

"Men," Bryce boomed, his voice thundering over the crowd, "you leave to fight for a cause greater than anything under the Maker's eye. You follow my son, Lord Fergus, to the heart of the darkspawn scourge to defend your families, your homes, and your country. Soon, I will join you with the forces of Amaranthine, and together, we will defeat this Blight!"

The crowd roared, voices echoing off of the stones of the castle. Exchanging a small nod with the teyrn, Mother Mallol stepped forward and shouted, "The Maker is our shepherd!"

"He keeps stock over his children," the crowd responded.

"He is the lantern in the dark."

"He provides light to show his children the way."

As she did whenever someone began reciting the Chant of Light, Rowena lost focus and began to wander, her eyes drifting over the entire scene. In doing so, she managed to catch a glimpse of her mother, whose expression made her pause. The teyrna looked despondent.

"Are you all right?" she murmured, sidling next to her.

"Hm?" the teyrna asked, keeping her eye on Fergus. "Oh, yes, darling, I'm fine. I just…there's a terrible feeling about all of this that I just can't put my finger on."

Rowena frowned. "You shouldn't worry about Fergus, Mother, he's a very capable warrior."

"Oh, I know, darling," Eleanor said, smiling. "But still, I just can't shake…" She suddenly turned to face her daughter. "I love you very much. You do know that, don't you?"

"Yes, of course," Rowena said, taken aback by the anxious ferocity on her mother's face. "I love you, too."

Eleanor opened her mouth to say more; however, at that moment Mallol finished her blessing, and Fergus stepped forward to address the crowd.

"All right, men!" he shouted. "Let's move out!"

The troops erupted into cheers as drums began to play in the courtyard. With one last wave to his family, Fergus descended to the yard, mounted his horse, and began to lead the army out of the castle.

As her brother disappeared through the gates, Rowena felt her mother tremble slightly. One look at her showed just how worried she was.

"Oh, Mother, he'll be fine," Rowena said, wrapping an arm around her as they turned from the crowd. "He'll be back before we know it."

"I suppose you're right, aren't you?" Eleanor replied, smiling sadly.

"Of course I am," Rowena said as they reentered the castle. "How could it be any otherwise?"


	8. The Fall of the House of Cousland

The next few days carried on as they normally did in the castle. Rowena's mornings were spent on the training ground, while her evenings were busy entertaining the castle's guests. The break in routine finally came on the third day after her exercises when Howe's vanguard arrived, announcing that the rest of Amaranthine's troops were soon to follow.

"It's about time," she murmured to Ser Gilmore as they watched the soldiers file into the courtyard. "At this rate, the Blight will be over for a month by the time they get to Ostagar."

"Duncan says the darkspawn aren't expected to attack for another week and a half," the knight replied, absent-mindedly nursing a welt Rowena had given him on the side of his neck. "The only fighting they've had is a few skirmishes deep within the wilds."

"You've been talking to him a lot, then?" she asked, leaning against the castle wall.

He nodded. "I've been meeting with him after dinner for the past two nights. He's a very interesting man – a true hero."

"What about the mage?"

Ser Gilmore shrugged. "He keeps to himself, mainly in the library. A bit shy; I think he likes me, though."

She rolled her eyes. "You think _every_ man likes you, Rory."

"And I'm usually right, aren't I?" he asked, grinning. "Regardless, it doesn't matter. Duncan won't say why or how he left the Circle, but I'm guessing it wasn't under the best circumstances, judging from how they've been acting. Hopefully it won't be a problem down south…"

Rowena sighed. "I still can't believe you're going without me."

"Neither can I," he said, turning towards her. "Duncan has no idea what he's missing. Cheer up, though – we have to leave at the crack of dawn tomorrow."

"That sounds loads better that staying here," Rowena grumbled. "Mother's spent too much time with Lady Wine-dra and has somehow gotten it into her head that Dairren might be the perfect match for me."

"Personally, I think Dairren would be more pleased with Fergus…but then, who am I to dictate the preferences of foppish young noblemen?" Ser Gilmore said, grinning wolfishly.

"You're kidding!" Rowena gasped. "Well, that certainly explains why he spent most of tea yesterday staring at one of the servants."

"How is he otherwise? Is he nice?"

"For the most part, yeah." She shrugged. "A little awkward at times. Funny enough, though."

The knight stroked his chin. "Hm…interesting…" "

Rowena squinted at him. "Why do you ask?"

Ser Gilmore started playing with his gauntlet. "Oh, no reason. Just curious."

It was her turn to grin wolfishly. "If it were up to me, I'd say a certain foppish young nobleman is about to make someone's last night at Highever remarkably sweeter…but then who am I to dictate the preferences of conceited young knights?"

"Conceited young Grey Wardens, thank you very much," the knight replied, winking. Something across the courtyard caught his eye. "I'd get into the details, but I don't think you'll be here long enough to listen to them."

"Hm?" She turned around to see a short curly-haired young woman bustle her way towards her. "Oh, no, not already…"

"Zere you are, my lady," her lady's maid said, puffing a little. "_Vous êtes prête pour votre habillée?_"

"_Comme toujours, Sozinne,_" Rowena sighed. "Good luck tonight, Rory!"

"As if luck has anything to do with it," the knight called back; Rowena waved him off and entered the castle with her maid.

"Your lady mozzer eez waiting for you, my lady," Sozinne said as they hurried up the stairs leading to the castle doors. "She wishes to make certain zat you look your best for ze banquet tonight."

"My lucky day," Rowena muttered. The castle was feasting her father and Arl Howe before they left the next morning. While most people were looking forward to a night of eating and drinking, she only saw it as a long evening of having to be overtly polite to people.

"Oh, we have so many nice zings peeked out for you!" Sozinne said as they ascended another flight of stairs. "We were zinking your green gown wiz ze emerald necklace, but if you prefer ze blue zere are some lovely flowers we can OH!" The two found the top of the staircase blocked by a strange man wearing a set of Howe armor.

"I beg your pardon!" Sozinne said. "Who are you?"

The man slowly turned around to reveal a rather hideous face. "Nobody, miladies."

"Well, Nobodie, _zees _eez ze daughter of ze teyrn!" the maid snapped. "And _you_ are in ze private quarters of ze castle!"

The man ran his eyes over Rowena; she found herself putting her hand over the hilt of her dagger. "My, my, milady," he said, "It's truly an honor. Rumor has it you're to be in charge of this castle once your lord father's gone south."

"That is true," she said, unable to think of anything better.

"You must be nervous," he whispered, taking a step down. "It's a big castle…it'd be a shame if you lost it…"

"Well…at least it would be easy to find, then," Rowena blurted, saying the first thing that came to her mind. The guard grinned and took another step down toward her; her fingers curled tightly around the hilt.

However, before anything could happen, another shadow appeared at the top of the staircase. "Darling, what's going on?" Eleanor Cousland said. "Who's this?"

"One of Arl Howe's men, Mother," Rowena said, her calm flooding back. "He seems to be lost."

"The officer's barracks are on the ground floor," the teyrna said. "You are currently in the castle's personal quarters."

"My apologies, Your Grace," the man said, bowing. "I must have been…mistaken…"

"Obviously," Eleanor replied. "You may take your leave now."

With a final bow, the soldier slid down the stairs, shooting Rowena a final leer. With one last look of contempt, she spun around and joined her mother at the top of the stairs.

"Honestly, Rendon's brought the strangest men with him," Eleanor said, shaking her head. "Just an hour ago I found two of them skulking around the treasury."

"Good thing they're going down south, then," Rowena said, walking into her bedchamber.

"Yes, thank the Maker for that," her mother replied, following her into the room. "Sozinne, help me get her into the bath."

The two women began a long-practiced ritual of armor removal, unfastening ties and gently setting the shining Antivan metal on the bed. Fully undressed, Rowena pulled out the ribbon keeping her hair up and let it fall down her back. Shaking it out, she walked over to the large stone basin in the corner of her room and stepped into the steaming hot water.

With a sigh, she settled herself back and let the warmth seep through her body. As much as she loved being on the field, it was very hard to deny the comfort of a warm bath after a long training session.

"I'm afraid you don't have long in there, darling," Eleanor said. "We really need to get started as soon as we can."

Rowena grimaced and began scrubbing herself with a dainty scented soap flower from Orlais. "What's the rush? The banquet isn't for another two hours."

"Yes, well, there's something before I'd like you to do," the teyrna said, lying out gowns on her bed. "Sozinne, dear, make sure this armor gets sent back down to the training grounds." The Orlesian nodded and motioned to two servants to carry it away. "Anyways, darling, Landra and I have planned a little gathering for you young people before the banquet starts."

"'Young people'?" Rowena asked, motioning that she was ready to exit the tub.

"Oh, you know, Ser Surana and Ser Gilmore," Eleanor said, handing her a towel. "And you and Sozinne, of course…and then Dairren."

Rowena paused a moment to give the teyrna a look. "Subtle, Mother."

"What?" Eleanor said innocently, leading her to her gowns. "Nothing like a nice gathering of young people."

"Particularly one that could end in a marriage arrangement," Rowena finished.

Her mother gave her a sly smile. "Well, if that happens, all the better! Landra's even letting that poor Iona come along – I believe Landra thinks she can somehow get prestige from marrying her maid off to Ser Surana or Ser Gilmore. Which gown, darling?"

"The green one," Rowena said. "And I'm afraid Lady Landra may end up regretting Ser Gilmore's presence at this 'gathering'."

The teyrna frowned as she began to put the gown over Rowena's head. "How so?"

"Because," her daughter said, sticking her head through the dress's neck opening, "if anyone's ending up with Ser Gilmore, it's going to be Dairren."

The teyrna reflected on this for a moment, then threw up her hands in exasperation. "Honestly, for the love of the Maker! If you had half the success Ser Gilmore had with _your_ suitors, you'd be married with children already!"

"As if I'd want that," Rowena said, sitting down at her vanity. "Married, at 17? I'd rather die."

"But surely you wish to 'ave children?" Sozinne cooed, brushing out her hair. "Think of 'ow beautiful zey would be, wiz all zat zick, lovely red 'air."

Rowena smiled and twirled a strand of hair through her fingers. Although she knew it was a hazard on the battlefield, she just couldn't bring herself to cut it all off. She'd paid for this weakness more than a few times when training, but she had long since learned how to compensate for it. "Maybe someday," she admitted, spinning the lock of hair she held, "but not now. There's too much to see to worry about that."

"You sound like me when I was your age," Eleanor said, taking two strands of her daughter's hair and tying them in the back. "I was going to see the great towers of Minrathous and fight pirates in Rivain – I pegged myself a regular Ser Aveline."

"Did you do any of zese zings, Your Grace?" Sozinne asked as she placed an emerald ornament over the tie the teyrna had made.

She shook her head. "King Maric collected his troops a week before my ship left for Kirkwall. Freeing Ferelden seemed more important than fighting sea raiders abroad, so I led my father's troops into battle." A mischievous look crept into her eyes. "Now that I think about it, perhaps I should have sent you to Ostagar with you brother, darling – I did meet your father during the rebellion, after all."

"Did I hear that someone is going to Kirkwall?" Oriana asked, entering the room.

"Unfortunately not," Eleanor said, turning around. "Not for the moment, at least."

"Good. You would find Antiva to be ten times more enjoyable." She examined her sister-in-law, who had stood up to greet her. "You look absolutely lovely, Sister. That dress really brings out your eyes."

"Doesn't it?" Eleanor said, smiling. "Do you know what you're wearing yet?"

Oriana grimaced. "That is why I have come. Unfortunately, Oren has become ill, and I do not think that I shall be able to go to the festivities tonight."

The teyrna clucked her tongue. "Oh, the poor boy. Is he very sick?"

Oriana shook her head. "Still, I would much rather stay with him tonight – he misses his father so, and I do not want him to be alone."

"Of course, dear," Eleanor said. "We'll be sure to send you both up some food." Her daughter-in-law smiled, thanked her, and left to return to her quarters.

"_Pauvre enfant_," Sozinne said. "To become ill before a grand event like zees!"

"Yes, how tragic," Rowena said wistfully. "Say, maybe I could sit with Oren, let Oriana enjoy herself—"

"Oriana will be fine," Eleanor said. "What you need to do now is get down to the library."

"What?" Rowena cried in protest. "It's in the _library_? What did I do to deserve that?"

The teyrna smiled sheepishly. "I know, darling, I know, but all the other rooms are being used—"

"Father is the most powerful man in Ferelden, we have the largest bleeding castle in the entire country, how is that even possible—"

"—and besides," she continued, "I know it's been so long since Aldous has seen you, I'm sure he'd love to catch up with his old student."

"I don't know why we're sending men down south," Rowena scowled. "Obviously we have an archdemon living right under our own roof."

"Have fun, darling!" Eleanor chirped, pushing her out the door. "Oh, and Sozinne, make sure she behaves herself."

"_Bien sûr_, Your Grace," Sozinne said, following her daughter.

"I know how to behave myself," Rowena grumbled as they descended the stairs. "No one needs to remind me of anything."

"Of course not, my lady," Sozinne said. "Do not worry, zees shall be quite pleasant! I shall be zere, along wiz Ser Gilmore – and no one will be getting married, eizer!"

"Not if I can help it," Rowena muttered. "Let's hurry up, I just want to get this over with."

The two women scurried down the corridors, finally reaching the entrance to the library.

"…in fact, my boy, Teyrna Elethea was six months pregnant at the Battle of the Waking Sea," an ancient, tired voice wheezed into the hallway. "Her men tried to dissuade her from fighting, but she wouldn't listen."

"Don't make a sound," Rowena muttered to Sozinne, starting to sneak into the library. "With any luck, Aldous won't see us, and we can—"

"Rowena!" Eruestan said brightly, freezing her in her tracks. "Master Aldous here has been telling me all about your family! I had no idea the Couslands were so prestigious!"

"Don't bother with this one, serah," the old man huffed, turning to her. "I tried for fourteen years to interest her in her studies, and it all came to naught."

"The mark of a great tutor," Rowena quipped. "How are you, Aldous?"

"Wonderful, now that I've found a student who actually cares about what I have to say." He looked down at her clothes. "Wearing a gown, are we? What, is it Satinalia already?"

She snorted. "Do you really think I'd be in the library if it were?"

"Fair enough." He sighed and gave Eruestan a sad look. "I'm sad to see you go, my boy. No one's listened to any of my lessons in the past thirty years."

"Oh, I'd love to hear more—" the elf began; before he could finish, though, Rowena stepped forward and grabbed his arm.

"Unfortunately," she finished, "we have a social event to attend." Grumbling, Aldous hunched his shoulders and trudged back to his books.

"Miserable old coot," she muttered. "How are you, Eruestan?"

"I'm fine," he said. "Actually, I'm more than fine. Your library is fantastic!"

"Isn't it, though?" someone said behind them; they turned around to see Dairren and Iona approaching. "Good evening, my ladies, serah."

Rowena curtsied. "Are you much of a reader, then, Dairren?"

He nodded, taking a seat. "It's how I'd spend all my time, if they'd let me. Not that they'd ever let me."

"There must be quite a few things you do they aren't too fond of," Sozinne said, eyes innocent; Rowena shot her a dirty look, then smiled quickly at a slightly confused Dairren.

"What about you, Iona?" she asked, trying to change the subject. "Are you a reader as well?"

"N-no, my lady," Iona stammered, blushing. "I'm afraid I can't read."

It was Rowena's turn to blush. In her haste, she'd forgotten that most elves were illiterate. "Ah…of course…my apologies…"

A terribly awkward silence filled the room, amplified by gentle snores from the corner where Aldous had fallen asleep.

"Well, you're a lively bunch," Ser Gilmore said as he entered the room. "And to think I was going to apologize for my being late."

Out of the corner of her eye, Rowena saw both Dairren and Iona brighten considerably. "There you are, Rory," she said in relief. "Where have you been?"

"That's 'Ser Grey Warden' to you, my lady," Ser Gilmore said. "And I was occupied…with Grey Wardenly things…"

"I certainly hope they weren't important Grey Wardenly things," Eruestan said, eyebrow raised. Rowena noticed that the tips of his ears had turned red. "Otherwise I'm going to feel left out."

Ser Gilmore scowled. "Oh, it's no fun for me when there's another one of us around."

"You must be so honored," Iona breathed. "Only the bravest warriors are invited into the Grey Wardens."

"And the capablest," Dairren added, equally breathy. "Er…most capable? Yeah, most capable."

Ser Gilmore shrugged. "Oh, you know, it's such an honor to be even considered, I'm really not that big of a deal."

"Oh, Rory, you're too modest, you're really quite the – IS THAT A RAT?" Rowena shouted, pointing at the corner behind him; the knight gasped and spun around…only to see nothing there.

"I bet you think you're very funny," he growled, looking back as Rowena, Sozinne, and Eruestan smirked at him.

"Only marginally," she said smugly.

"Your wit is a grace to us all, my lady," Dairren said; Rowena noticed that despite his words, he still hadn't stopped staring at Ser Gilmore.

"Thank you, Dairren," she said. "You flatter me with your attention."

"Hm? Oh, yes, yes, my pleasure," he said quickly, blushing furiously; Ser Gilmore had chosen that exact moment to wink at the young man. Rolling her eyes, Rowena turned to Eruestan, who was determinedly not looking at Ser Gilmore. She sighed. It was no wonder the knight's ego was so big.

"So what will tonight be like?" Eruestan asked, breaking the silence. "I've never been to a banquet before."

"I've been to too many," Rowena replied. "There'll be a lot of food, drink, and dancing, which means about halfway through everyone'll get completely pissed and start breaking the furniture. I'll be sent to bed early because it's improper for a young lady to be around all that, and my mother will have a backache for the next month from splitting up whatever brawl will break out."

"Why go at all if you know it'll end early for you?" Eruestan asked.

She shrugged. "Noblewoman. It comes with the territory."

"Aye, that it does," Ser Gilmore said, cutting in. "Along with being bossy, hot-headed and forcing me to throw every one of our sparring sessions."

She hit his shoulder. "The only reason you have to throw them is because you know I'll break one of your limbs if you don't."

"Do you spar often, then?" Dairren asked.

"Very often," Ser Gilmore said smoothly, leaning in. "I could show you a thing or two, if you'd like."

Dairren turned a shade of red Rowena had never seen on a human before. "I…I could…um…"

He was mercifully cut off by a sneeze; this, however, proved problematic, as no one in the group had sneezed.

"What the – Maker's breath!" Ser Gilmore stood up and reached behind a bookshelf; everyone gasped as he dragged out a pasty man crouching within the shadows.

"Who are you?" Rowena cried, rising to her feet.

The man paled and bowed before her. "Wendell, milady. I'm under Arl Howe's service."

Her eyes narrowed – were _all_ of the men from Amaranthine so suspicious? "Well, either His Lordship regularly encourages spying on his hosts, or you're about to be in serious trouble."

"What should we do, my lady?" Ser Gilmore asked coldly.

"Give him to the guards," she said. "We'll have Arl Howe deal with him."

Ser Gilmore grabbed the man by the collar and dragged him out of the room; all the while he babbled excuses at her. Rowena shook her head and sat back down. "These people are getting weirder and weirder."

"Count yourself lucky," Ser Gilmore said, coming back into the room. "At least you don't have to cross the country with them." He turned around as the sound of distant music began to fill the room. "Is it time already?"

"Eet appears so," Sozinne said, straightening her sleeves. "A fortunate zing, too – I zought I would die of hunger!"

"What's happening?" Eruestan asked, bemused.

"The music's started," Rowena explained. "It's a sign that the feast's begun." She turned to the others. "I suppose this also means we need to pair up. Dairren?"

"What—" the poor man said; she had caught him yet again staring at Ser Gilmore. "Oh! Yes, of course!" He collected himself and proffered his arm. Behind them, Ser Gilmore bowed down in front of a giggling Sozinne as Eruestan, still looking bewildered, took the arm of Iona, who in turn was still staring longingly at Ser Gilmore.

The music slowly grew louder as they drew nearer to the great hall. "Are you ready, Dairren?" Rowena asked as they stopped in front of the giant wooden doors.

"With you by my side, I'm ready for anything, my lady," he said. She smiled slightly and gestured to the servants to open the doors. As the music blasted into the hall, she tilted her head and whispered, "There's an empty hallway in the North Wing of the castle. No one will find the two of you there."

He started. "W-what?"

"Have fun," she said, winking. Then she broke free and dove into the crowd, letting the music carry her away.

* * *

Eruestan thought his eyes were going to burst.

Never in his life had he seen more diverse people in one room. Giant feasts were discouraged at the Circle, and even when they had them the guests were all the same – sickly-pale scholars clothed in long robes, all squinting from years spent reading late into the night. Here, however, seemed to be a whole society packed into one hall. Finely dressed nobles, knights and soldiers, common folk, musicians – it was a good thing Iona was a ballroom veteran; otherwise Eruestan would have been utterly lost. She directed him towards the Couslands. "Ser Surana!" the teyrn thundered, clapping him on the back. "Glad to see you here!"

"Glad to be here, Your Grace," Eruestan replied, ignoring the pain in his back. "I have to admit, I've never been to a party like this."

"It's a pity you weren't here four days ago," the teyrna said. "Unfortunately lack of time and resources meant we couldn't quite reproduce the feast to send off our own soldiers."

The elf smiled slightly. "Well, perhaps I'll be able to catch it for the next Blight."

Bryce and Eleanor laughed heartily; with a bow, Eruestan and Iona slowly moved away.

"They're very kind, aren't they?" Iona murmured.

Eruestan nodded. "One of the mages at the Circle used to be a servant here, and she always spoke very highly of the Couslands."

"It must be nice," Iona sighed. "Having such friendly masters."

Eruestan looked over at Lady Landra, who was beckoning for an elven servant to bring her more wine. "Are you not so lucky?"

She looked down. "Bann Loren and Lady Landra are not cruel. I suppose that's the best you can ask for. Still, though…" She sighed and looked across the room; Eruestan followed her gaze to Ser Gilmore, who was talking with a very flustered Dairren. "I would simply like to enjoy myself every now and then, is all," she said simply.

He thought he knew what she meant. "Er…Iona, I'm not sure Ser Gilmore will want to…"

"Oh, I know, serah," she said bluntly. "I'm not stupid. Still, though…a girl can dream, can't she?" With a smile, she curtsied and made her way across the room.

Eruestan sighed. The fact that having masters who "weren't cruel" was considered something rare sat poorly with him.

A tap on the shoulder pulled him out of his reverie. "Something to eat, ser?" someone said; the mage turned around to see a surly elven servant carrying a tray of food standing behind him.

"Oh! Um…I'm fine…" The servant was glaring at him; taken aback, he stared as the man walked away, carrying the food tray to the next guest.

"It's a bit of a shock, isn't it?" someone asked; Eruestan looked over to see Duncan standing beside him.

He shrugged. "It…takes some getting used to. People aren't really worried about race in the Circle; magic makes us all equally dangerous, so it doesn't matter who's an elf or who's a human. It's odd for me to see it, though." He sighed. "It also doesn't help that everyone seems to be afraid of me."

Duncan smirked. "Yes, I'm afraid an elven mage won't be popular anywhere in Thedas, not just Ferelden…although at the very least you're not Orlesian."

Eruestan grinned. "Would I even be allowed into the country if that were the case, too?"

The Grey Warden shrugged. "You'd most likely have to at least kill an archdemon before people started inviting you to tea."

It was meant to be a joke; however, Eruestan suddenly felt his stomach churn. "Right…killing…the archdemon…"

Duncan put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "I take it killing things isn't quite your specialty?"

He flashed a weak smile. "The Templars weren't too fond of teaching us how to better resist them."

"Don't worry," Duncan said. "When the time comes, you'll find instinct will often take over."

The two were cut off by a loud clamor off in the corner; it appeared that a servant had denied Lady Landra wine, as she was now drunkenly striking at him with a water pitcher.

"Lady Landra seems to know all about instinct," Eruestan said, smiling. "Maybe you should recruit her as well."

Duncan looked over as the teyrna hurried to calm Landra down. "If any lady needs recruiting, it's Bryce Cousland's daughter."

"If you don't mind my asking, why don't you recruit her? You're able to take anyone you want, and she's more than willing."

Duncan hesitated. "That would be…impolitic."

"I thought the Wardens were removed from politics," Eruestan said, frowning. "They don't get involved, so they can do as they wish o long as they stop the Blights."

"Normally, that's the case," Duncan replied. "However, the Fereldan Wardens don't have the best track record when it comes to staying out of politics."

"We don't?" Eruestan asked, surprised.

He shook his head. "Centuries ago, the Warden Commander laid a claim to the Fereldan throne. There was a war, a war that she lost, and the Wardens were exiled from Ferelden. It wasn't until the reign of King Maric that we were allowed to return – a decision many weren't pleased with."

"And so taking the teyrn's daughter would further weaken our relations with the Fereldan nobles," Eruestan finished.

"Exactly. No one cares if you conscript a few convicts here or there; go after the daughter of the second-most powerful man in the kingdom, however, and people start getting worried."

Eruestan looked at Rowena, who was dancing merrily with a member of the household. "How many Wardens are there in Ferelden, Duncan?" he asked.

The Warden sighed. "12, plus four recruits."

"_12?_" Eruestan looked up at him in alarm. "Will 12 be enough?"

His answer was far from reassuring. "I certainly hope so, Eruestan. I certainly hope so."

* * *

As the dance finished, Rowena curtsied to her partner and then clapped vigorously for the musicians. Dancing was the only thing that made events like these bearable, and she greatly appreciated anyone who could perform her favorite songs from Antiva and Rivain.

Having finished, she wandered over to the high table, where her mother had slumped back over a chair.

"I forgot how violent Landra gets when she's drank too much," Eleanor panted, fanning herself. "Maker, but does she have a mean left hook!"

"She's not the only one who's had too much," Rowena mentioned; she pointed to her father, who was cheering loudly as he and Arl Howe swigged back stein after stein of ale.

"Oh, Maker's breath, Bryce," Eleanor huffed, sagging further back in her chair. "He's going to feel terrible tomorrow morning."

"He won't be the only one," Rowena said, looking at Arl Howe. "Oh, that reminds me – we caught one of Howe's men spying on us in the library."

The teyrna frowned. "Spying? Are you sure?"

"Either that or he needed a book from the bottom corner right behind us." Rowena shrugged. "I sent him to the guardroom after I got his name – I figured I'd just inform Arl Howe, but seeing the state he's in…"

"Yes, I don't think now's the time…besides, darling," Eleanor said, frowning, "I'm not sure we should go to Rendon."

"Why not?"

"Usually, darling, when a servant spies, it's at the bidding of his master."

Rowena blinked. "Arl Hose is Father's oldest friend."

"Greater men have betrayed far greater relationships," Eleanor said solemnly. "I think I'll tell your father to keep an eye on Rendon on the way down south."

"You might have to wait a while for that," Rowena said, yawning. "Looks like he's going to make a night of it."

"Yes, well, he'll be the only one," Eleanor said. "The two of us have a very big day ahead of us tomorrow, and we need as much rest as we can get."

Rowena yawned once more. "You're right. Care to join me?"

The teyrna nodded and stood up. "Do you think he'll be all right?" she asked, looking back at her husband.

"Alcohol poisoning aside?" Rowena said, leaving the hall. "Mother, he'll be fine."

* * *

The music playing in the Great Hall was very loud; not loud enough, however, to reach the guards stationed above the main gate to the castle.

"Andraste, it's hot," Marrin said as he mopped his forehead with a rag. "Can you imagine those poor bastards having to walk through this heat all the way from Amaranthine?"

"The march down south will be worse," Sam said gravely. "Now shut up, we're supposed to be concentrating on the road, the Arl's men will be here any minute now."

Marrin, however, wasn't in the mood to be silent. "Those sad bastards, Sam! Think about it! Trekking all the way here, then down south, only to be killed by some blighted darkspawn! Makes a man sorry, don't it?"

"The only man I'm sorry for is meself, listening to you babble," Sam grumbled, looking out into the dark. "Shut your mouth, man!"

There was a moment's silence. Then: "Have you ever seen a darkspawn, Sam?"

Sam cursed under his breath. "No, you blasted idiot, of course I haven't! No one's seen a darkspawn in 400 years!"

"How do we know how to kill 'em then?"

"I don't bloody know! The Grey Wardens do!"

Marrin reflected on this for a second. "It'd be something to be one of them, wouldn't it, Sam?"

The other man snorted. "You, a Grey Warden? Not even Maferath'd be that cruel."

"What?" Marrin asked, hurt. "I'd be a brilliant Grey Warden."

"Please. You wouldn't know a fight if it stabbed you in the bleedin face."

Marrin opened his mouth to argue; however, before he could, an arrow proved Sam's point by stabbing him in the bleeding face.

"Andraste's tits!" Sam swore, leaping up towards the alarm bell as Marrin's corpse fell to the ground. However, before he could get more than two clangs out, another volley of arrows sliced through the night air, cutting him down and leaving the bell's peals to echo in the night air.

* * *

In one of the darker corners of the castle, two shadows pressed into each other, breathing heavily.

"Dairren, Dairren," Ser Gilmore said, panting, "not so much teeth."

"Well, not so much tongue, either," Dairren gasped.

Ser Gilmore reflected on this. "Fair enough."

Dairren began fumbling with the knight's pant strings. "Why is this always…so…complicated…" he grunted, biting his lip. "And…._there_." The strings came undone; Ser Gilmore waited proudly for his reaction.

"My," Dairren said, taken aback. "That's…quite a sword there."

"I'm aware," Ser Gilmore said, grinning.

Dairren fell to his knees. "Perhaps…you'd like me to polish it for you?'

Ser Gilmore sighed happily and rested his head against the wall as Dairren went to work. "Ah, yes, that just – do you hear that?" he said suddenly, standing up straight.

"All I hear is someone talking through something he probably should stay quiet for," Dairren griped.

Ser Gilmore raised a hand. "Shh, listen." The two sat in silence. Slowly, the sounds of clashing steel and screaming men filled the room.

Ser Gilmore looked down in shock. "I think – I think we're under attack!"

* * *

The feast had been over for hours. The only two men left in the room were Teyrn Cousland and Arl Howe.

The poor teyrn had seen better days. "R-Rendon," he slurred, leaning against the arl, "you're my…you're my best ffffriend."

"Am I?" the arl asked, checking the contents of his cup.

Bryce nodded vigorously. "Aye, you are. Thick as thieves, us two. Couldn't a done it without ya."

"Your Grace, I'm flatt—" Howe was cut off by the teyrn, who raised his finger to Howe's mouth.

"Shhhh," Bryce whispered. "No titles. Jus' two ole friends, enjoyin – whassat?" he mumbled, turning towards the growing sounds of battle reaching the hall.

Howe drew a dagger from his sleeve, suddenly standing upright. "That would be my cue, Bryce," he said curtly. With that, he plunged his blade in between the teyrn's ribs, twisting and twisting as blood poured through the wound.

* * *

Despite the lateness of the hour, Oren had still not fallen asleep.

"Mama, I'm hot," he complained, pushing aside his blankets.

"I know, _mio tresoro_, I know," Oriana murmured, patting at his forehead with a wet cloth. She had sent a maid to get fresh water half an hour ago – where on earth was that girl?

Oren moaned and flopped over on his stomach. "I wanna go fight with Papa."

Oriana smiled. "Your time will come soon enough. For now, all you need to do is obey Grandmama and Auntie while Grandpapa and Father are away."

"I know," her son sulked. "But I still wish I could see some fighting."

At that moment there was a distant crash that gently shook the walls of the bedchamber.

"What was that?" Oren asked excitedly; Oriana just laughed and kissed his forehead.

"Nothing but thunder, _mio amore_," she smiled.

"Oh." He lay back, disappointed.

Oriana looked at him tenderly. "Would you like to hear the song about the king of Antiva?"

He looked up excitedly. "Yes, please!"

She smiled, cleared her throat, and began.

"_C'era una volta un Re,_

_ Seduto sul sofà,_

_ Che dissa alla sua serva:_

_ 'Raccontami una storia.'_

_ E la serva incomincio:"_

_ "C'era una volta un Re…"_

Arl Howe's men burst into the servants' quarters, slaughtering everyone they could find.

"_Seduto sul sofa…_"

Cousland and Howe men clashed in the courtyard, steel clanging against steel.

"_Che dissa alla sua serva…_"

Fire was set to the books in the library.

"_Raccontami una storia…_"

Guardsmen sped up the stairs to the castle's private quarters, led by a man with a rather hideous-looking face.

"_E la serva incomincio:_"

Oriana would have continued her song, would have gone long into the night until her darling boy drifted off to sleep. Oren would have woken up the next day completely recovered, and she would have begun a long month of prayer for the men at Ostagar.

But that would never be. For as Oriana took a breath to begin the third repetition, the door to their chamber burst open, revealing four of Arl Howe's men, all with swords drawn high.

* * *

Rowena was riding a cloud. The sun was shining, the wind was rippling through her hair, and nothing could have been better. A sweet little bird chirped up beside her and landed on her outstretched palm.

"Well, aren't you just adorable!" she cooed.

It stared up at her and began barking.

Her eyes fluttered open. It was the middle of the night; her room was still dark. Cormac was barking furiously.

"Shite!" She leaped out of bed and ran to the hound's side. "Cormac, be quiet! You'll wake the entire castle!" Cormac lowered to a menacing growl in obedience; it was then that Rowena realized that the castle had already woken.

"Maker's breath, what's going on?" she whispered as the sounds of battle grew louder in her room.

There was a sudden pounding on her door. "My lady!" Sozinne screamed from the other side. "My lady, _au secours_!"

Caution thrown to the wind, Rowena flung her door open to reveal a terrified Sozinne cowering in the darkness.

"Sozinne!" Rowena cried. "What's wrong?"

"We are under attack!" the girl screamed. "Arl Howe—"

This was all she got out before an arrow burst out the front of her neck.

With a gasp of horror, Rowena looked up to see an archer and two soldiers bearing down on her from the corridor. She dove back into her room and grabbed the first makeshift weapon she could fin; this proved to be an iron poker, which she swung around with just enough force to slam it into the first soldier's head as he reached back to strike at her. With a groan, he collapsed to the floor.

His fellow hovered by the door, now wary of the seemingly defenseless young woman. Narrowing her eyes, Rowena flew forward and then ducked; his swipe sliced through the air and landed with a thump into her bedpost, so deep the soldier couldn't pull it back out. Rising up, Rowena knocked him to the ground with her shoulder; before he could react, she jabbed forward with the poker, stabbing him in the neck.

There wasn't much time to gloat over this victory, for at that moment an arrow flew past her face and clattered against the wall behind her. She whipped her head around to see the archer draw back another bolt, bow directed at her. Then, there was a snarl and a flash of fur, and in an instant Cormac was on top of the man, tearing at his face, neck, and shoulders until his legs stopped twitching.

"G-good work, boy," Rowena said weakly, staring at the bodies surrounding her. She had the strange feeling that she was still dreaming. With a pang of grief and shock, she looked down at Sozinne's body and realized she wasn't. No nightmare could mimic the sorrow she felt.

Sadly, there was little time for grief. Cormac interrupted her with a quick bark. Looking up, she saw that he was trotting over to the door that led to her parent's chamber.

"No!" she gasped, leaping to her feet. "No no no nonononono!" She ran into her parent's door and began pounding on it. "Mother?" she asked fearfully. "Father? Are you there?"

There was a cry of relief from the other side; a moment passed, and then the door flew open.

Rowena's jaw dropped. Eleanor, always prim and proper, was dressed in suit of armor, hair quickly swept into a messy bun.

"Mother?" she asked in disbelief.

"Darling!" Eleanor cried, embracing her. "I heard screaming and I feared the worst! What's happening?"

"I…I don't know, they came from nowhere and—" She paused. "Mother, Sozinne said they were Howe's men."

The teyrna's eyes widened. "You don't mean – that bastard!" Rowena jumped back, shocked by the vehemence of the curse. "I'll slit his slimy, shite-stained throat if it's the last thing I do!" She took a deep breath to calm herself. "Where is Sozinne, darling?"

Rowena paled. "She's d-dead, Mother."

"I see," Eleanor said grimly. "Is the area safe?"

Rowena took a look at the bodies surrounding her. "I took care of it."

"All right, then. Darling, we need to collect the family and go. We'll grab Oren and Oriana, find your father, and—"

"What do you mean, 'find Father'?" Rowena asked in alarm. "Did he not come back tonight?"

The teyrna shook her head. "No, he stayed out with Rend—Arl Howe. He could be in terrible danger. Speaking of which, run and put your armor on, darling, and grab me a bow. We don't know who we'll meet tonight."

Her daughter paused. "Can you…you do know how to use a bow, right?"

"Of course I do!" she snapped. "Do I look like some Orlesian wallflower? Now hurry – I'm going to find Oriana and Oren, and then we need to _move._"

Rowena nodded and ran back to her room. Tearing off her nightgown, she began to rummage through her armoire. To her dismay, the only set of armor she could find was a cracked leather training suit from two years earlier.

"Andraste's tits," she muttered as she squeezed into it, scraping her ribs against the interior. "The one time I wear a gown…" Securing the straps, she bent down and picked up a bloodied sword from one of the dead soldiers' bodies. "You don't need this anymore…and neither do you," she said, reaching for the mauled archer's bow and quiver. She paused over Sozinne. Blinking back a few tears, she closed her friends eyes and made the Circle of Andraste on her forehead. " At that moment, however, a terrible scream ripped through the night.

Rowena raised her sword. "Who's there?" she barked; the only response she got, however, was Cormac's mournful bale from down the hall.

Weapon still drawn, Rowena made her way warily down the corridor, stopping at the entrance to Fergus and Oriana's chamber. "Mother?" she asked. "Is everything all—"

Her voice trailed off as she realized what lay within the room. The teyrna was on her knees, face in her hands. Oriana lay beside her in a pool of blood, a terrible gash across her chest. Then, in a blow that brought Rowena to her knees as well, she saw that little Oren lay motionless in the bed in the corner, sheets stained red.

"We were too late," Eleanor wept bitterly. "My poor little Oren…how could they do this, those monsters…"

Rowena lay still, an anger unlike any she had ever known growing inside her. "Howe will pay for this," she spat, blinded by tears and rage. "As long as he lives, he _will_ regret this."

"You know what this means, don't you?" Eleanor said, turning to her with tears in her eyes. "Killing defenseless women and children? They aren't taking prisoners."

"Good," Rowena said savagely, wiping her eyes. "Because neither are we." Rising to her feet, she extended her arm to her mother. "Come on, let's go. We need to find Father now."

Eleanor nodded, and with a final look back followed her out the door. "Did you find me a bow?"

Rowena pointed to the fallen archer. "Cormac took care of that for you."

The teyrna whistled. "Good work, Cormac!" Taking the bow and quiver, she fixed her hair and looked ahead. "All right, darling, let's move."

The two women and the Mabari made their way out of the private quarters. Windows revealed a large part of the castle to be in flames. Corpses lined the halls, blood pooling on the floor.

"On your guard, darling," Eleanor whispered. "These people could be anywhere…"

She was cut off as they turned the corner and ran into another group of Howe men.

With a fierce war cry, Rowena jumped up and slammed her blade into one soldier's skull. Beside her, Cormac gnashed at a woman's leg as Eleanor shot a man down with her arrows. Parrying one man's blow, Rowena spun around and buried her sword in his stomach. Panting, she looked up to see her mother grab an arrow, stab her attacker three times in the chest with it, and then smash his head in with his own mace.

"Who are you, and what have you done with my mother?" Rowena asked in wonder. Eleanor smiled; however, her smile soon turned to a look of horror as she caught sight of something behind her daughter. Before Rowena could respond, something knocked her to her feet. Sprawling, she looked up to see a giant man in Howe armor raise a warhammer to strike her. Shying away from it, she tried to protect her head as best she could and waited for the blow to come.

Suddenly, there was a blast of cold air and the sound of ice rapidly forming. A few seconds passed, and still no terrible blow came. Uncovering her head in confusion, she looked up in wonder to see that the giant had been completely incased in ice.

"What in the name of the Maker…" As the mist cleared, she was able to make out a slight elven frame standing in a doorway. "Eruestan?"

"Rowena!" he cried, running up to her. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," she said, climbing to her feet. "What about you? Are you all right?"

He nodded. "Duncan told me to stay in my room until he found out what was going on – I didn't leave until I heard the fighting out here. What's happening? Who are these people?"

Rowena spat. "They're Arl Howe's men. They're killing everyone they can find."

"Howe?" he asked in shock. "I thought he was your friend?"

"So did we," Eleanor snarled. "Ser Surana, did Duncan say where he was going?"

Eruestan shook his head. "Just towards the fighting, Your Grace."

"Then that's where we go," the teyrna said. "Come on, we need to keep moving."

The group raced down the halls, dodging around corners whenever a group of Howe's men could be heard. In each hallway and stairwell lay someone Rowena had grown up with. Each face added energy to the fire already building in her soul. _I will avenge you_, she thought after each corpse they passed. _Every last one of you, I will avenge you._

At certain turns fire, not soldiers, blocked their escape. Heat and smoke filled the air at some points, making it almost impossible to breathe. It was during one of these detours that the teyrna froze and swore loudly.

"The treasury!" she gasped, turning down a side hallway.

"Is she really worried about jewelry at a time like this?" Eruestan asked.

Rowena shrugged helplessly and tore after her mother. "Mother, there are more important things than gold to worry about at the moment!"

She found her pounding desperately at the treasury door. "This—isn't—about—gold!" she panted, slamming herself into the heavy oak. "This—is—about—preserving—Cousland—honor!" With a final slam, she slumped wearily to the floor. "Oh, why didn't I think to bring the key?" she asked miserably.

Eruestan squared his shoulders. "I might be able to help," he said quietly. Stretching out a hand, he lowered his head and muttered a few words in Tevinter. A small ball of light appeared in his palm; it proceeded to grow larger until finally he thrust out his arm, sending it slamming into the door with such force that it was blasted off its hinges.

"Maker," Rowena breathed. "You've got to teach me that one."

He responded by grinning weakly and falling to his knees.

"Are you all right?" she asked in alarm; he nodded and waved her off.

"That took more out of me than I expected," he said sheepishly. "I'll just catch my breath out here."

The teyrna grabbed a torch from the wall. "Follow me, darling," she whispered.

Rowena had never been allowed inside the treasury before, and now that she had entered she knew why. The torchlight revealed more gold and jewels than in a raider's den on Estwick, not to mention piles of gleaming daggers, swords, and battleaxes – had she been allowed in as a child, she would never have come back out.

"Over there is what we need," Eleanor whispered. "The standards of House Cousland."

Rowena followed her gaze and gasped. Mounted on the wall in a place of honor were a beautiful sword and shield. Both were made of white steel with gold filigree; the hilt of the sword held a giant emerald.

"The Teyrn of Highever has held these weapons since the Black Age," Eleanor whispered. "They're dwarven-made and carry many enchantments. Whatever we do, Arl Howe cannot get to them."

"Am I allowed to take them?" Rowena murmured.

Eleanor nodded. "Your father was to grab them in the morning to take down south. Maker willing, we'll be able to get them to him now."

Rowena stepped forward and grabbed the set from the wall. Instantly a bolt of electricity coursed through her body, as if the sword was acknowledging who she was.

"Wow," she breathed, giving it a test swing. Both were far lighter than she had expected. "I could get used to this…"

Suddenly there was a loud bark from the hallway. Spinning around, she saw a group of Howe men bearing down on them, one ready to attack Eruestan.

Without thinking, she leapt forward and slashed out; her blade cut through the man's armor as if it were fabric. Raising her shield, she blocked a blow to her face and jabbed forward, felling another soldier. Rising to his feet, Eruestan took down a man attacking Cormac with another ice spell while Eleanor shot one more in the head. As if thinking with a mind of its own, the Cousland blade sang through the air and buried itself into the final guard's neck.

Rowena stared at the sword in wonder. "Where were _you_ all throughout my childhood?"

"Locked up very, very, _very_ far away from you," Eleanor said. "Now hurry, we've almost reached the Great Hall."

As they drew nearer, the sounds of fighting grew even more intense. Turning a corner, Rowena saw to her dismay that the giant doors had been blasted open by some force, revealing a massive struggle between Howe and Cousland men.

Without a second thought, the four of them threw themselves into the pitch. Rowena ducked, sliced, and twirled, blood flying around her as her sword sang and hummed.

"Nice one, milady!" one of her men shouted as she cut yet another enemy down; before she could reply, a bolt of lightning collided into his chest, blasting him to pieces.

Spinning around, she saw that a young woman at the other end of the hall was shooting bolts of electricity at the Cousland fighters. With a snarl, Rowena ran forward, blade back. Three bolts were fired: one careened off to her right; the second crashed somewhere above her head. The third was aimed right at her chest.

Before she could even close her eyes, Eruestan appeared in front of her. With a quick circular gesture, the bolt was redirected to form a ring around his hands. Confused, the female mage intensified the spell; this only served to make the lightning spinning around his hands much, much larger. Realizing her mistake, she quickly ended her spell; this, however, proved to be a bigger mistake. As she did so, Eruestan threw out his hands with a scream, sending a flash of lightning so powerful everyone in the room was temporarily blinded. Once she regained sight, Rowena saw that all that remained of the woman was a black scorch mark.

The mage gone, the Cousland men quickly made short work of the remaining Howe soldiers. Despite their cheers, Eruestan did not move. Wary, Rowena took a step forward; with a groan he swooned and fell in her arms.

"Eruestan!" she cried, laying him down. The stench of charred flesh filled the air; in horror she looked down to see that his arms were covered in hideous burns.

"I'm—all—right," he spat out. "J-just—l-let—m-me—" With a shudder, he unclenched his fists, bathing his own arms in blue light. The burns faded with the light; at this point, Eruestan started shaking dangerously.

"What's the matter?" Rowena asked, frightened. "Your burns are gone!"

"T-too much m-magic," he stammered. "I c-can't cast anymore."

In the quiet Rowena became aware of a great pounding off in the distance. "Oh, what now?"

"My lady!" someone cried; Rowena turned around to see Ser Gilmore run toward her, covered in blood. "Thank the Maker!"

"Rory!" Rowena cried, rising to her feet. "Are you all right?"

Nodding, he wrapped her in a bear hug. "I've been fighting near the front gate. We've managed to close them, but they won't hold – I came back for reinforcements—"

"Is Howe still in the castle?" she asked sharply.

The knight shook his head. "He managed to slip out somehow. He's with the rest of his men." He looked over to the teyrna, who was running over. "Your Grace, I bear bad news – I'm afraid your friend the lady Landra has been slain, along with her son and maid."

"I figured as much," Eleanor said. "And what of my husband, Ser Gilmore? Where is the teyrn?"

Ser Gilmore bowed. "He was badly injured, Your Grace. He and Ser Duncan left to go find you; His Grace said that you would know where to look."

The teyrna's face grew grim. "I understand. Darling, we have to go."

Helping Eruestan to his feet, Rowena grabbed Ser Gilmore's arm. "C'mon, Rory, the Grey Warden's waiting!"

There was another loud crash in the distance. "No," he said.

Rowena felt her blood chill. "What do you mean, 'no', you have a duty to them, you have to…"

"I'm not one of them yet, my lady," the knight said. "Right now I'm still a Cousland man, and my duty as a Cousland man is to defend those gates to buy you all as much time as possible."

Overcome with emotion, Rowena ran forward and gave him a mighty embrace. "Maker watch over you, Rory," she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

"And you, Rowena," he whispered back. Separating from her, he took a step back and climbed onto a table. "All right, men! Let's show these bastards how Cousland soldiers fight!"

The men roared in a way she had never heard before, a final hurrah for a fray they all knew they wouldn't survive. As the soldiers joined Ser Gilmore, they turned around and bowed to Rowena and Eleanor. Bursting with emotion, the two women bowed back.

"Your loyalty will never be forgotten," the teyrna said, struggling to maintain composure. "May we meet you all again by the Maker's side."

"Maker save Their Ladyships!" one man called.

"And Maferath fuck Howe!" a woman roared. With another great cheer, the soldiers followed Ser Gilmore out to the courtyard.

"Such brave men and women," Eleanor said, struggling to keep composed. "Now, come on, you two, we don't have any time to spare."

The four rushed out of the hall, Eleanor and Cormac leading the way. Blinded by emotion, Rowena soon lost track of where they were headed; before she knew it, they had arrived in front of the kitchens.

"Bryce!" Eleanor cried, running toward the teyrn. Rowena stopped in the doorway, frozen. Her father lay panting in a pool of blood, clutching a wound in his side.

"Bryce, darling, what happened?" the teyrna asked, kneeling down beside him.

"Rendon stabbed me," he gasped. "My own fault, really – drank too much, wasn't paying attention—" He winced and clutched his side.

"His Grace is very grievously injured," Duncan said; Rowena hadn't noticed him. "If we are to escape, we need to do it now."

"About that, Dunc—Duncan," Bryce gasped. "I'm not sure I can do it."

"Bryce, don't be silly," Eleanor snapped. "We'll get you out through the passageway and straight to a healer."

"Wait!" Rowena said quickly. "We have a healer!" She grabbed Eruestan and pushed him in front of her. "He's brilliant, he'll be able to heal Father, we'll be fine, it'll be—"

"Rowena," Eruestan said, eyes wide, "I can't."

"Don't be stupid," she said. "I've seen you heal loads of things, you've got powerful magic—"

"I'm telling you, I don't have enough mana left, it won't work."

"Please," she whispered, staring at him. "Please, for the love of anything, please, please, just try, please—"

Eruestan hesitated, then sat down and stretched out an arm. Closing his eyes, he began to mutter a few words. Faint, flickering blue light appeared in his palm, and Rowena's heart fluttered. Yet the instant he touched it to the teyrn's wound, it vanished.

He looked up in anguish. "I'm so sorry, I can't, I'm tapped."

"It's all right," Eleanor said, her voice distant. "Ser Duncan, please escort our daughter from the castle."

There was a brief pause. Then, everyone turned to her and said "What?"

"Ellie, don't be ridiculous," Bryce said softly. "You can still escape, live—"

"I've been at your side for 25 years, Bryce Cousland, and if you think I'm going to leave you now then you haven't been paying nearly enough attention to me." She turned back to the Grey Warden. "Will you do this for us, Duncan?"

"I will," Duncan said, "but on one condition. I came to Highever in pursuit of a recruit. That man is now lost to me. As such, I need a warrior to replace him. I will escort your daughter, but only if you allow me to induct her into the ranks of the Grey Wardens."

Bryce and Eleanor stared expressionlessly at each other for a moment, then turned back to Duncan. "Done," they said in unison.

Rowena had been stunned up until this point. "No!" she cried, standing up. "I won't leave you two!"

"Rowena, you _must_." Eleanor's voice was sterner than all 17 years Rowena had heard it. "You _must_ live."

"But you and Father—"

"Your father and I have led good, full lives, dearest," Eleanor said. "I would sooner throw myself on Howe's sword a thousand times than keep you from having the same."

Hot tears welled up in Rowena's eyes. "I-I love you both. So, so much."

"Then live, Pup, and fight," Bryce said weakly. "Warn your brother and kick Rendon's traitor ass."

There was a distant, massive crash that shook the castle. "We need to leave, _now_," Duncan said, pushing aside the barrel that blocked the rat tunnel.

Rowena stood froze in the center of the room.

"Darling, please, leave, run," Eleanor whispered.

Something nudged her hand; she looked down to see Cormac gently pushing her towards the passage.

With a stifled sob, she swooped down to give her parent a final embrace.

"Hey now, no tears," Bryce said gently. "And might I add, my lady, that is a mighty fine sword."

Rowena half-chuckled, half-sobbed and kissed him on the forehead. "Sorry I'm taking it from you."

"There is no one in the world who deserves it more," he replied, pride shining in his eyes.

"My beautiful, brilliant girl," Eleanor murmured, squeezing her tight. "You and your brother are my greatest joys. I'll always be with you, my Wena."

Tears were pouring unchecked down her face. "Goodbye," she whispered. "I love you."

"As do we," they both murmured. Fighting to calm down, Rowena forced herself to turn around and head into the blackness of the tunnel. Duncan followed her, dragging the barrel into place, cutting her off from her parents forever.

It took them two hours.

Two hours of moving in total darkness. Two hours of feeling along dirt walls, tripping over roots, and crashing into low-lying planks. Two hours of trying to ignore the soft, controlled, yet agonized sobs of the young woman whose world had collapsed to pieces. In short, those were two hours that felt like two years.

By the end, Rowena had stopped crying.

Even when she stepped out of the blackness and looked back on the blazing inferno that had been her home, no more grief pulled at her heart. No, her tears had turned into the white-hot fire of fury, a rage so pure, so immense that her only chance of survival was to suppress it. This was why, as she looked on the ruins of Highever, she turned to her companions and said, "Well, my sleep's been ruined for tonight. Shall we just keep moving on towards Ostagar, then?" And, ignoring their stunned stares, she continued on, hound at her side, back to the flames.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Please feel free to review! _


	9. Welcome to Ostagar

Eruestan's feet were killing him.

For someone who had spent the last fourteen years locked in a tower, the charms of sleeping outside and killing for food quickly wore off. The days before Highever had been bad enough – the events at the castle had been so depressing that no one particularly wanted to talk to each other. Eruestan hadn't taken many journeys in his life, yet he was fairly certain that, all things considered, this one had to be pretty miserable. Thus, when at the end of a week he first saw the marble towers of Ostagar peeking over the tree line, his spirits lifted immediately. "Is that it?" he asked Duncan.

The Warden nodded. "That's the Tower of Ishal, one of the oldest buildings in Ferelden. Tevinter origins."

"And it's still standing?" Eruestan gasped. "That's absolutely fascinating!"

"Utterly," Rowena said dully. "How much longer until we get there?"

"About an hour," Duncan replied. "Once there, we can get settled." She arched an eyebrow and pushed ahead with Cormac.

Eruestan bit his lip, and then stepped forward to catch up with her. Rowena had been understandably silent for the whole week, giving terse responses to his and Duncan's questions and mainly keeping to herself. While the elf had originally wished to give her space, he couldn't help but notice that as they drew further south, she had become increasingly agitated. The past two days she hadn't slept more than three hours a night, and the majority of her food seemed to go to Cormac. He was concerned; he couldn't imagine how she must be feeling. As her fellow Warden-recruit, he felt it was somewhat his responsibility to make sure she was all right.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her.

She shot him a look. "Splendid."

"Ah. Cool." He took a breath. "Seriously, though, are you all right?"

"I don't know," she said. "You ever tell your brother that his entire family was viciously murdered?"

Eruestan gave a horribly forced smile. "Erm…well, no, can't say that I have…although considering that I haven't seen anyone in my family since I was four, I guess it's to be expected…"

"Well, I don't recommend it," she snapped. "It's not exactly pleasant; nor, for that matter, is being forced to talk about it."

"Right…" Eruestan now saw that showing his concern had not been perhaps the most well thought out approach. "Well, I'm going to be over here if you need me, have a nice—"

"Oh, sod it, I'm sorry," she said. She looked over and gave him a very weak smile. "I appreciate what you're doing, Eruestan, I really do…but please, don't. I don't need it."

He shrugged. "Fair enough." Duncan was giving him an odd look when he pulled back; he didn't bother trying to find out what it meant.

The rest of the hour passed in relative silence, broken only when Eruestan thought of questions to ask Duncan about the history of the fortress. The nearer they drew, the more evident it became that a large mass of people had recently passed through. Plants were trampled, dirt kicked up, and trash was strewn throughout the forest.

"How many people are here?" he wondered aloud as they passed a broken wagon abandoned under a tree.

"There are armies from all across Ferelden," Duncan responded. "I expect the only exception will be Amaranthine's."

"One of our largest," Rowena said quietly from ahead.

"That's true," Duncan said. "Fortunately, the men we do have should prove to be sufficient in the coming battle."

"Is _should_ really something we want to hear?" Eruestan asked, concerned. "I mean, if we fail here, how are we going to – oh my."

They had walked around the last stretch of forest, and all of a sudden all of Ostagar was sprawled before them. It was a massive structure perched on what appeared to be a very steep cliff. The Tower of Ishal shot up into the sky, while various other spires peered over the mighty walls. It was easily taller than any building he had ever seen.

"Maker," he breathed.

Even Rowena seemed taken aback. "_This_ was built by the Tevinter Imperium?"

Duncan nodded. "Over 1600 years old and still standing tall." He was cut off by a horn blaring in the distance. "It appears they've been expecting us. We should hurry."

The nearer they drew to the fortress, the larger it seemed to become. Eruestan began to feel extremely small. True, the Circle Tower had Tevinter origins as well, and it, too, was very large. However, the largeness of his home was a very different style of large from this building. He had to stop himself from looking at the top – the sight was making him dizzy.

The courtyard beyond the giant gates was just as massive. Here were the stables and storage areas for the entire complex. There were more putrid smells and rude, bustling people here than anywhere else Eruestan had ever been.

"Oy, watch it!" a large man carrying an even larger barrel yelled as Eruestan stepped in front of him. Shooting the man a nasty look, Rowena grabbed Eruestan's arm and dragged him along with her.

"You have to pay attention in a place like this," she scolded, not unkindly. "The courtyard at Highever's just as busy, I'm always getting in people's – _shite_!"

"You let people shit in your courtyard?" Eruestan asked. He then followed her horrified gaze to an archway on the other side of the stables. "Rowena?"

Standing there was a small group of soldiers, all dressed in gleaming armor. At their front was a very handsome, tall young man wearing a suit of armor plated in gold. Judging by the way Rowena was looking at him, Eruestan assumed she knew him; judging by the way she was blushing, he assumed she wished she knew him better.

"Duncan!" the man called, walking towards them. "We were afraid you were going to miss the battle!"

Duncan walked up to the man and bowed. "Never fear, Your Majesty," (Eruestan's eyes bulged) "the Fereldan Wardens will be at your side in full force."

"I'm glad to hear it," King Cailan beamed. "Our scouts say the horde is two days from us. I must say, Duncan, so far this Blight is proving very disappointing."

Duncan stared at him for a second. "Disappointing, Your Majesty?"

Cailan nodded. "The stories I've read speak of terrible struggles with creatures so vile the Maker himself would shudder at them, yet all our skirmishes have been won easily enough. There hasn't even been any sign of an archdemon!" He shrugged. "No matter, though – cutting down darkspawn alongside the Grey Wardens will be like something out of a tale. They may even write one about it!" the king peered good-naturedly at Duncan's companions. "Your recruitment mission was a success, I trust?"

"Ah, yes. Your Majesty, may I present to you Ser Eruestan Surana, of the Circle of Magi."

Extremely flustered, Eruestan bowed low before the monarch. "I'm h-honored, Y-Your Majesty," he stammered.

"The honor is all mine, ser mage," Cailan replied. "Your magic will be much needed in the battle to come."

"And then I believe you already know my second recruit," Duncan said, gesturing to Rowena and her hound.

"Why, Lady Rowena!" the king said in surprise; Eruestan was deeply amused to see that she was just as addled as he had been. "This is quite a shock! Your brother told me not to expect you." He looked over her shoulder in anticipation. "Is your father with you? We've been expecting him and Arl Howe for some time now."

Rowena paled. "Your Majesty, I'm afraid neither my father nor Arl Howe will be joining the war effort."

Cailan frowned. "Beg pardon?"

"Your Majesty, Bryce and Eleanor Cousland are dead," Duncan said. "Arl Howe surprised Castle Cousland in the dead of the night, and slaughtered everyone inside. Had not we been able to escape, none of us would be here before you now."

The king turned sharply to Rowena. "Is this true, my lady?"

Her face was expressionless. "Every word, Your Majesty."

"Then Rendon Howe shall pay," the king said. "With his actions he betrays not just House Cousland, but also the rest of Ferelden." He looked back at her sympathetically. "I wish I could direct you to your brother; unfortunately, he and a few of his men left earlier this morning on a scouting expedition, and are not expected back until just before the battle."

Rowena's face did not move. "I understand. Thank you, Your Majesty."

The king turned back to Duncan. "See to your recruits, Duncan, then meet me in my tent. We've much to discuss."

Duncan bowed once more. "Of course, sire. I shall be with you shortly." Cailan nodded and returned to his guard, walking back towards the camp.

"So…did the king just call the Blight 'disappointing', or was I hearing things?" Eruestan asked.

Duncan sighed. "King Cailan is a young man, and one raised on ideals from tales and storybooks. I'm afraid this has made him rather susceptible to a certain…romanticizing, of situations."

"He's still a very skilled warrior," Rowena said, slightly defensive. "And the people love him."

"Both very true," Duncan agreed. "So long as His Majesty doesn't require me to charge alone against the horde with a single blade drawn, we should all be fine. But enough of this. I will be with the king for some time. There is a Grey Warden in camp by the name of Alistair – he will show you around and introduce you to the other recruits until I am ready to send you on your first mission."

"Our mission?" Eruestan asked.

"It concerns your Joining ceremony, something Alistair will tell you more about. Until then, farewell."

The two bowed as Duncan left. "So…" Eruestan murmured as he disappeared, "You and King Cailan, huh?"

Rowena stood up straight. "Pardon?"

The elf shrugged. "I mean, it's no big deal. He's really handsome, I totally get it…"

"I don't know what you mean," she said coldly.

"Oh really? 'He's _such_ an amazing warrior, everyone _loves_ him, a _wonderful_, _exemplary_ ruler—'"

"I – oh, shove off," she said, smiling in spite of herself. "Let's just find this Alistair fellow and get this over with."

The two of them exited the stables through the same arch the king had used, walking onto a giant bridge that traversed the length of a gaping valley. Eruestan stopped at the railing and pointed out beyond. "Look at that," he breathed. "The Korcari Wilds."

A vast stretch of wizened trees sprawled out before them, all covered in a sinister mist. Rowena whistled. "Is the weather down here normally that bad?" she asked, gesturing to the evil-looking clouds broiling in the distance.

The elf frowned. "I don't really know all that much about weather," he admitted, "but if what I've read on the Blights is correct, that might be the darkspawn taint in the air."

"Oh, good," she said faintly. "Otherwise that'd have been awful."

Eruestan grimaced and turned back to the bridge. "Excuse me," he said to a passing soldier. "Do you know where we could find the Grey Warden Alistair?"

The man looked like he had been spit on. "Did you fuckin' say somethin' to me, knife-ears?"

Eruestan stared at him, confused. "Come again?"

That was all he could say before a blur of red hair collided into the man, swung him around, and dangled him over the edge of the bridge. "You sound like a very clever man," Rowena said over his loud squawks of horror; Eruestan looked on in alarm and complete, total bewilderment. "So I'm going to give you some options, and I'm sure you're going to choose wisely. First, I could toss you over this edge here." She jostled him a little; he screamed even louder. "Oh, not a fan of that one? Well, then, I _could _have my hound here rip your balls off instead." Cormac growled viciously; the soldier lost what little color he had left and started praying loudly to Andraste. "Finally, you could apologize to my friend here, and promise me that I'll never, ever catch you saying that word ever again."

"Option three," he sobbed. "Option three!"

"See, you are smarter than you look," she smiled. With a heave, she threw him at Eruestan's feet. "Now, go on."

"M-my apologies, s-s-ser," the man choked out.

"It's quite all right," Eruestan said, embarrassed; a small crowd of people had gathered around to see what was going on. "Again, though, could you tell me where to find Alistair, please?"

"He's under the aquaduct, w-with the m-mages." He looked back at Rowena in terror. "P-please let me go before she hurts me!"

"Yes, yes, go on, then," he sighed; the man gasped in relief and took off. "The rest of you can leave, too!" Rowena shouted.

"What was that about?" Eruestan hissed as the crowd dispersed. "Are you crazy?"

She stared at him. "He called you a knife-ear."

"So? I don't even know what that's supposed to mean!"

"You've never heard of knife-ears before?" she asked incredulously. "It's horribly insulting! It's meant to be disparaging towards elves!"

"Oh!" Eruestan was taken aback. Racial slurs didn't exist in the tower. "Why 'knife-ear'?"

Rowena blushed. "Erm…well, you know…the ears. They're a bit…pointy."

"Ah," he said, tracing the slope of his ear. "Lovely. I should never have left the Circle…"

They crossed the bridge and stepped under the archway heading to the rest of camp. Before them sprawled a vast sea of tents and wooden structures, all filled to bursting with people. Everywhere, men and women trained, polished their weapons, and moved crates back and forth, while elven servants scampered across with various messages.

"Anything here look like an aqueduct?" Rowena murmured.

"That aqueduct over there kinda does," Eruestan replied, straight-faced.

She paused and looked over at the giant stone structure. "Smartass," she muttered, heading off in that direction.

The two began to make their way through the crowd, Rowena and Cormac leading expertly, Eruestan praying he wasn't about to get stepped on. Drawing nearer the aqueduct, he suddenly felt his stomach clench; blocking the way through were two Templar guards.

"Halt," one of them boomed as Rowena tried to enter. "No soldiers are allowed past this point."

She frowned. "Why not?"

"This part of the camp is reserved for the army's mages," the other man said. "No one is allowed to enter or leave without our permission."

"We're looking for the Grey Warden named Alistair," she replied, equally as cold. "Has he been through?"

"Yes, he has," the Templar replied. "He bore a message from the Grand Cleric."

"May we go see him, then?"

"Do you bear a further message from the Grand Cleric?"

"No."

"Then no."

She frowned further. "Well, why not?"

The man's eyes narrowed. "Because I said so, that's why!"

She paused. "Well, say we _did_ have a message from the Grand Cleric…"

The knight sighed. "That may work on stupider men, but no little girl is going to trick me."

"Why, you bloody—"

"Rowena, come on, let's go," Eruestan said. "We can find him later, we don't want any trouble—"

"Hell yes we do!" she snapped. "I did not trek across the entire blighted Bannorn to be bossed around by a stuck-up, lyrium-addicted, city guard reject!"

Eruestan went completely pale. "_Rowena_!"

The two Templars stood there, stunned. "What did you just say?"

"Oh, should I make that a _deaf_ stuck-up lyrium-addicted city guard reject?"

"Who are you, boy?" one of the men said suddenly, noticing his robes. "Are you a mage?"

Eruestan was frozen in place, convinced that he had somehow fallen into a terrible nightmare.

"Yes, he is!' Rowena said, grabbing his wrist. "And he's also a Grey Warden, like me! So unless you'd personally like to tell the Warden Commander why you kept us from obeying his orders, I suggest you let us through!"

One of the guards sighed. "Oh, Andraste's bright, blushing ass, there are _more_ of you bloody Wardens now? We can barely stand your collected ego as it is!"

His partner turned to stare at him in horror. "Marten, do not blaspheme against our sacred Lady Savior and Prophet in such a disgusting manner!"

"Oh, please," Marten snorted. "Like the Blessed Lady gives a rat's ass."

"_Marten_!"

"What? She's living with the Maker, what's she got to complain about?"

"Marten, if you do not recant your statements immediately I'm afraid I shall have to report you to the Grand Cleric!"

"Gentlemen!" Rowena said. "While I hate to interrupt such an important religious discussion, my friend and I need to pass through!"

Marten sighed. "Oh, hurry up and go on before I change my mind again!"

They walked past, Rowena with head held high, Eruestan with his eyes to the ground. Once they'd moved out of earshot, Eruestan stepped in front of her and glared. "Are you insane?" he hissed. "What was that?"

"What?" she asked. "I got us through, didn't I?"

"You can't say things like that to the Templars!" he said. "They're respected warriors, they're the arm of the Chantry!"

"Are they Grey Wardens?" she asked.

"Well, no," he said, "but then, neither are we."

"We're close enough," she responded. "Now come on, we need to find Alistair."

Fortunately, they didn't have far to look, as it seemed Alistair was coming to them.

"I will not be ordered around by anyone, not even the Grand Cleric!" someone inside the nearest tent barked. "No matter how many Grey Wardens she sends!"

"Perhaps you would prefer a messenger pigeon in the future, then, serah," someone else replied.

There was a rustling from within. "Do not be smart with me, boy."

"Seeing as you called me 'idiot boy' about a minute ago, we probably won't be having too much of a problem there, will we?"

"Idiot boy!"

"See? Problem solved. Now, look, I know you mages have been doing a lot for the war effort, but could you please just take five minutes to go see the Grand Cleric? She's a very frightening old woman and I'm afraid of what she'd do to me if I came back with a refusal. She's very into the whole 'kill the messenger' idea."

There was a brief pause. "Fine, if I must. Don't think I don't know what this means, her sending _you_ of all people to get me…now, if there isn't anything else…"

"Actually…" The other voice hesitated. "I don't mean to be rude, but I can't tell if that's a mole on your face or a bit of food, and I don't want you to get embarrassed if it's food…"

"OUT OF MY WAY, FOOL!" The tent flap rustled open and an angry bald man stormed out. "Who are you two?" he demanded, glaring at Eruestan and Rowena. "What are you doing here?"

"We're, um, we're…" Rowena said, distracted by his admittedly very large mole.

"We're here for Alistair," Eruestan finished, bowing respectfully.

The mage glared back into the tent. "By all means, take him. He's of no use to me."

"Hey now," the other voice complained, "I'm actually a very good juggler, you're just not appreciating my talents." A very young man emerged from the tent, no older than Eruestan or Rowena. He was blond, handsome, and for some reason Eruestan had the strange feeling that he had met him before. "Now, who needs me?"

"No one, if they know what's good for them," the mage snapped. "Now get this boy out of my sight!" He stormed off into the distance, not willing to wait for a response.

Alistair sighed. "You know, at the very least these Blights demonstrate that even in the darkest times, people still maintain a sense of decency and politeness."

"Warms the heart, doesn't it?" Eruestan said drily. "What was that about?"

He rolled his eyes. "The Chantry and the mages have been at each other's throats since they got here. I'm just trying to stay out of the way before someone tries to turn me into a toad."

"A toad?" Eruestan asked.

Alistair froze, eyes running over the elf's robes. "Oh, not that mages do that, of course – I mean, not that I think they would if they could – I mean, I'm sure they're sensible people – which isn't to say that I think all mages are the same – I…" He stopped himself and took a deep breath. "Forgive me. Let's start over, shall we? I'm Alistair, Junior Warden. Please don't turn me into a toad."

"Don't worry, it's not very high on my to-do list," Eruestan said, smiling. "My name's Eruestan, this is Rowena, and this is Cormac."

"Pleased to meet you!" Alistair said. "What can I do for you?"

Rowena frowned. "Duncan sent us. He said you'd look after us."

"Duncan?" Alistair looked up in interest. "Is he back already? That must mean you're the new recruits, then!" A huge grin broke out on his face. "Well, hi! Welcome to the Order! You guys are going to have so much fun!"

"Really?" Eruestan asked.

"Not at all," he said happily. "All the same, though, it's great not being the newest member anymore. I almost cried when I heard Daveth and Jory were joining, it was so beautiful."

"Daveth and Jory?" Rowena asked. "There are more recruits?"

Alistair nodded. "Here, let me show you around, and then I can take you to them." He led them around the tent and gestured around himself. "Well, to start with, we're currently in the mage's quarters of camp. There aren't very many here for the war effort, so the Templars have had it relatively…oh, shite…"

He had led them back to the arch under the aqueduct, where the two Templar knights were still arguing passionately.

"All I'm saying is, I think the Maker has more on his mind than a few off-hand remarks about his beloved," Marten was saying crossly; catching sight of the Wardens, he turned around and crossed his arms. "Well, look, Reddor. We've got a perfect way to settle our argument. What does the great Grey Warden Alistair think?"

The other Templar did not move. "I don't know who you're talking about. No such man exists."

"No such man _should_ exist," Marten countered. "And yet here he is."

Alistair had turned bright red. "I guess they'll still let anyone into the Templars these days."

"They had to," Marten said coolly. "Our recruits keep leaving us."

"Can't imagine why," Alistair retorted. "Now, if you two will excuse me…"

The two Templars stepped aside reluctantly, letting the Wardens pass through.

"Sorry about that," Alistair muttered, leading them back into the crowd. "The Templars and I aren't exactly the best of friends."

"Seems like they don't like having people around who can tell them what to do," Rowena said, ducking around a man carrying a pile of scrap iron.

"Yes, there's that," Alistair said. "The fact that I left the order for the Grey Wardens probably doesn't help things much, either."

"You were a Templar?" Eruestan asked in shock.

"Yes, and I hated every minute of it," he said. "I never took any vows, though; Duncan recruited me a month before I was supposed to be fully initiated. The Grand Cleric wasn't exactly thrilled." He shrugged and led them down a row of tents. "But that's beside the point. Welcome to camp! Right down here is the chief blacksmith, there's the armory, and…oh, you probably don't want to see the gibbet, actually," he said hurriedly, leading them away from a row of hanging cages full of half-starved men in ragged clothing.

"Why are they in there?" Eruestan asked, unable to tear his eyes away from them.

"Deserters," Alistair said. "We haven't had too many problems, mainly because of crackdowns like this. Still, it's hard to blame the poor bastards…There are a lot more pleasant areas in camp, though!"

"Like the infirmary?" Rowena asked in alarm, peering around him at the rows of beds stretching out in front of them.

"Well, I didn't necessarily say we were _going_ to one of the more pleasant areas," Alistair said quickly. "Come on, though, the quickest way to our quarters is through here."

The group proceeded through the sea of cots, trying to ignore the cries of pain and anguish. Rowena and Alistair pulled ahead; Eruestan, however, strayed. Despite his best efforts, he found it impossible to resist looking at the grim wounds some of the soldiers bore. One soldier in particular drew his attention. The man was lying bare-chested on a cot, his eyes closed. Something absolutely horrific had happened to him. His skin, which was mottled and slimy, seemed to have begun to shrink, leaving him with bared teeth and wide, popping eyes. Equally fascinated and repulsed, Eruestan took a step forward to examine him more closely…and then shot back in terror when the man seized his arm and wrenched him closer.

"_We need to run_," the man shrieked, eyes spinning wildly. "They're like maggots on flesh, they'll destroy us all…we're being eaten from the inside!"

"I…I…" Eruestan stammered, trying to break free; Rowena and Alistair were turning around up ahead, trying to figure out what was going on. The man seemed to ignore his struggles; indeed, he even pulled Eruestan closer.

"I can feel it," he hissed, his words flavored with a fear so intense it made the elf's stomach clench. "Their taint. It's in the air, in the trees, in my thoughts…_we are all going to die._"

"_Serah Rorke_!" someone shouted; suddenly, three women appeared around the man, pulling him off Eruestan. One of them, a tall woman with white hair, touched his forehead and muttered a few words. A blue cloud of smoke appeared around his head; with a sigh, he collapsed back against his pillow.

The woman pulled her hand back and smoothed out her robes. "I'm so sorry about that," she said. "We've been trying to keep an eye on him, but with so many injured soldiers…"

Alistair and Rowena ran up to them. "What happened?" Alistair asked. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Eruestan said quickly. He turned back to the mage. "What happened to him?"

The woman shrugged. "He was found two days ago in the Korcari Wilds. His scouting party has been missing for a week."

"He survived that long in the Wilds by himself?" Alistair said in disbelief. "Maker…"

"Does he have any hope of recovery?" Eruestan asked.

The mage shook her head. "No spell I know of is strong enough to stop the spread of the taint in his body. All I can do now is ease his pain." She peered closely at Eruestan. "I believe I recognize you. Your name is Eruestan, isn't it?"

He nodded. "Irving has told me very much about you. I am Wynne, one of the Senior Enchanters back at the Circle."

Eruestan bowed before her; Wynne was highly respected at the Circle. "I'm honored to meet you," he said.

"There's no need for that," she said. "And given your company, I think I owe _you_ the honor. Has Greagoir finally allowed one of our mages to join the Grey Wardens?"

Eruestan felt his stomach clench. "Y-yes, yes he has."

"Well, he certainly chose well," Wynne said. "I've never heard the First Enchanter speak more highly of an apprentice." The elf blushed furiously; before he could say anything, there was a cry from a bed a few rows down. "Oh, dear, please excuse me," Wynne said, looking over her shoulder. "Maker keep you all in the days to come."

"And you," Alistair called as she ran off. He looked down at the sleeping soldier. "Maker…he's seen better days, hasn't he?"

"What's going to happen to him?" Rowena asked quietly.

Alistair shrugged. "If he's lucky, he'll die in a day or two. If not, well, he'll probably become a ghoul."

"A ghoul?"

He nodded. "If you live, The Taint will corrupt you to the point of insanity. You'll forget who you are, what you are…and eventually you start developing a taste for human flesh. Only if you live, of course."

Eruestan felt his stomach churn; Rowena, too, had turned a few shades greener than normal. "Could we maybe move forward a bit? I suddenly want to vomit."

Alistair smiled grimly. "Don't worry. It may be unbelievable to hear, but you will get used to this sort of thing after a while. We had a man brought in from the Wilds the other night who was practically torn in half by the darkspawn. Poor bastard didn't last the night." His face suddenly brightened considerably. "Oh, and here's the cantine!"

As they continued through the camp, Eruestan couldn't help but notice that the general atmosphere was less one of horror or anxiety but rather one of great excitement. Despite whatever horrors these men might have seen, everyone seemed perfectly content (almost thrilled, in fact) to be so near a giant horde of bloodthirsty creatures. Even the soldiers praying around the makeshift chantry seemed to be doing so in calm anticipation of things to come.

"Things seem a little less dire than the rest of the country's been led to believe," he remarked, walking past a group of tents.

Alistair shrugged. "Depends on who you ask. King Cailan's done such a good job of convincing people that the situation's under control that almost everyone really believes it's true."

"And you think it isn't?" Rowena asked.

He glanced over at her. "If you want my opinion, the only two men to trust in this whole camp are Duncan and Teyrn Loghain, neither of whom look exactly pleased with what we're dealing with. I'll relax once I hear an all clear from one of them."

"Speaking of Duncan, he mentioned something about a Joining ceremony later tonight," Eruestan said. "What exactly does that entail?"

Alistair froze for a second. "Erm…the Joining is a necessary ritual for every initiate into the order. Yours will have to be tonight, otherwise there won't be time before the battle tomorrow."

"What will we have to do?"

"That's a secret," he said sheepishly. He led them through an archway into a small clearing. "But anyways, here we are! Grey Warden headquarters."

It was not terribly impressive. A collection of about eight tents was nestled around a small campfire, weapons and pieces of armor littering the ground. A blonde dwarven woman sat by the fire, grinding a battle-axe that was easily twice her size.

"Hello, Unga," Alistair said cheerfully, walking up to her. "Where's everyone else?"

She shrugged. "Eddric led a raiding party into the Wilds earlier today; I got stuck with babysitting duty." She looked up at Rowena and Eruestan. "Who're they?"

"Our newest recruits!" he said. "Unga, I'd like you to meet Eruestan from the Circle and Rowena from Highever!"

"Pleased to meet you," Eruestan said politely.

"Yeah, whatever," Unga said. "Alistair, what the hell is Duncan thinking, recruiting all this fresh meat right before the battle? How are we supposed to be able to train them in time?"

"I don't need training," Rowena said.

"Sure, Firecrotch, and I'm the Queen of Orzammar," Unga said. "And I mean, look at this one! I'm afraid to sneeze in case the air knocks him over!"

"That's a bit of an exaggeration," Eruestan said to himself.

"Yeah, so's the idea that you'd be able to fight a darkspawn."

"Whoa whoa whoa whoa," Alistair said, looking at the blush blooming across Eruestan's face. "C'mon, Unga, you were a recruit once, too, you know."

"I'm also a dwarf, Alistair," she said. "I've been fighting darkspawn since I was a toddler." She sighed and went back to her axe. "But whatever. To be honest, I feel better about these two than the other ones. That Jored's got all the strength of a bronto with about half the intelligence, and Davis's got that weird neck hair business going on."

Alistair seemed to be fighting back a smile. "It's 'Jory' and 'Daveth', Unga."

"Do I look like I give a shit?" she said. "Anyways, they're busy being good at nothing somewhere around here. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to continue pretending that I'm burying Stoneslicer here into some Hurlock's arsehole."

"Don't mind her," Alistair murmured as they headed over to the other side of camp. "She's seen a lot of recruits come and go, is all."

"Go?" Eruestan asked, confused. "People are allowed to just leave the Order?"

Alistair froze. "Er…well, in a sense, yes, I guess…"

"What sense is that?"

"The dead one?" he said. Blushing at the looks of alarm on Eruestan and Rowena's faces, he turned around and cleared his throat. "Oh, good, look, Jory and Daveth! You two! Over here!"

Pushing the idea of his imminent death from his mind for what seemed to be the thousandth time that day, Eruestan looked over to see two very different men approach them from the nearest tent. The first was absolutely massive, slightly balding, and bore an expression that didn't so much say "stupid" as it shouted it. The second was quite small, had a very strange haircut, and gave Eruestan a look that instinctively made him check his pockets.

"Alistair, thank the Maker you're here," the large one said. "I have reason to believe that this thief has loined my of my goods."

"It's 'purloined', idiot, and what would I want with your shit?" the other one shot back. "All you've got is that picture of that bloody cow you cry over every night."

The other man looked scandalized. "How dare you insult my Helena!" He paused. "Is it really 'purloined'?"

"Yes," Alistair said, "and what's Daveth purloined this time, Jory?"

"I can't find my undershirt," the knight said coldly.

"And I told him he probably already put his undershirt on!" Daveth snapped.

"I think I'd know if I had my undershirt on, thief!"

Alistair ran a hand through his hair. "Well…do you have your undershirt on, Jory?"

"No!" the knight shouted. "Why do you think my armor's so itchy?"

Rowena frowned. "Your armor's…_itchy_?"

"Yes!" The knight paused. "Er…yes…yes, it…it is…" He started to blush.

"You're wearing your undershirt, aren't you?" Alistair asked quietly.

"Maybe," the knight whispered.

"Idiot," Daveth muttered.

"Well, okay!" Alistair said, clapping his hands. "Men, I'd like to introduce to you our newest recruits, Rowena and Eruestan!"

Jory's eyes widened as he looked at Rowena. "Lady Rowena? You're to be a Grey Warden?"

Rowena gave an extremely strained smile. "Yes, yes I am."

Alistair looked surprised. "_Lady_ Rowena? You're nobility?"

"She's not just nobility," Jory said, "she's the Teyrn of Highever's daughter! I'm a knight in your father's service, milady, it's an honor to meet you."

"Shite!" Alistair said, eyebrows raised. "You're Bryce Cousland's daughter?"

Rowena's strained smile was now a flat-out grimace. "Yes…"

"Yeah, yeah, honored I'm sure, all that," Daveth said. "You're telling me they let little girls and elves into the order, too?"

"Lady Rowena is an excellent warrior," Jory said stiffly. "If they let a street rat like _you_ in, she's more than eligible."

"Hey, I'm here _because_ I'm a street rat, arsehole," Daveth retorted. "Duncan only recruited me because I managed to cut his purse before he noticed me."

"Yeah, well, unless you're hoping to pickpocket the archdemon, I can't quite see how that's going to come in handy."

"Hey, now, everyone's got their talents," Alistair said. "Duncan chose you both for a reason; you wouldn't have been recruited if he didn't think you had what it took to defeat the Blight."

"My thoughts exactly," a voice said behind them; everyone turned around to see Duncan approach accompanied by a very tall man. "Well said, Alistair."

"T-Thank you, Duncan," Alistair stammered, blushing. "I didn't realize you'd be here so soon."

Duncan gestured to the man beside him. "As soon as His Grace learned the identity of our newest recruit, he insisted on coming to see her."

The man bowed. "Lady Rowena. You have my condolences."

Rowena looked like a statue. "Thank you, Teyrn Loghain."

Eruestan blinked. Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir was easily the most famous man in Ferelden. A great war hero, he had been the best friend of King Maric and had played a major role in the rebellion against Orlais. The idea that such a celebrity would now be his equal was extremely disorienting.

"I expect you'll want to speak with your brother," the teyrn said gravely. "Unfortunately, he's is out on a scouting mission at the moment."

"His Majesty told me as such," Rowena said. "My duties for now lie with the Grey Wardens."

"Spoken like a true Cousland," Loghain said.

"I'm confused," Alistair murmured to Eruestan. "What happened?"

"It's kind of a long story," Eruestan murmured back.

"The idea that Arl Howe would betray us all at a time like this is unthinkable," Loghain continued. "Was everyone in the castle killed?"

Again, Rowena's face betrayed no emotion. "Everyone from my father to the kitchen staff. My hound and I were the only survivors."

"Yeah, that's essentially the story," Eruestan murmured to Alistair.

"Maker." His face was pale with horror.

The teyrn shook his head. "The Howe family will pay. Treachery like this will not be tolerated." He turned back to Duncan. "Well, Warden Commander, I leave you to your men. I will see you at the war council at dusk."

Duncan bowed. "Until then, Your Grace."

There was an awkward silence as Loghain left the camp. Jory shuffled around uncomfortably. "So…Teyrn Cousland is dead?"

Rowena ignored him. "Alistair said you'd be giving details on our first mission," she said to Duncan.

He nodded. "What I'm about to ask of you needs to be accomplished sooner rather than later. Its completion is crucial if you're to finish your Joining before the coming battle."

"What is this Joining, exactly?" Daveth asked. "It's been two weeks now and no one will tell us."

"You'll find out soon enough," Duncan said. "Until then, I'll need you to enter the Korcari Wilds."

There was a beat of silence. "The…Wilds?" Daveth whispered, all hardened appearances wiped away. "You want us to go into the Wilds?"

Duncan nodded.

"We can't go into the Wilds!" Jory said. "Who knows what's out there?!"

"Wolves, bears, bloodthirsty barbarians, and a vast horde of darkspawn," the Commander replied. "That concerns the first half of your mission." He pulled out four crystal vials from a pouch at his waist. "In order to complete the ritual tonight, each of you needs to fill a vial with the blood of a darkspawn."

Eruestan felt his heart flutter. "Blood of a darkspawn?"

"Yes. Alistair will accompany you; as a Grey Warden, he'll sense the darkspawn before they sense you."

"That's bloody reassuring," Daveth mumbled to himself.

"Your second mission, equally as important, is slightly trickier," Duncan continued. "Not far from here is an abandoned Grey Warden outpost. It was left by the wayside a century ago, and in the haste to evacuate it the order left many precious documents behind."

"You want us to go after some pieces of paper?" Rowena asked.

He shook his head. "This isn't just any paper. Within the ruins are a stack of treaties binding the elves, dwarves, and mages of Ferelden to our cause should we be threatened by the Blight. It is imperative that we find these documents to remind our fellows of their duty to the Grey Wardens."

Jory frowned. "What's the point in that? Isn't our plan to stop the horde here before they advance?"

There was a moment of silence. Duncan cleared his throat. "The papers should be within an enchanted chest inside the ruins. I've given Alistair a map, you shouldn't take too long. I'll expect you all to return by sunset."

"Oh, not too long, huh?" Jory scoffed. "Do you want us to do it blindfolded, too?"

Duncan gave the knight a long, hard look; Eruestan suddenly felt a chill travel down his spine. "I understand that what I'm asking of you seems extremely daunting. However, this task is but a fraction of what you will be expected to do should you join our order. If you feel unequal to this mission, I'm afraid I might have to reconsider my invitation of recruitment."

Jory looked like a fish that had been caught sleeping with its neighbor's wife. "That…er…that won't be necessary…"

"Excellent," Duncan said. "Alistair, as our newest member, it falls to you to lead them through the Wilds. I trust you are confident enough in your abilities to do so?"

He nodded. "Today's the test, though, isn't it?"

"Indeed. Eddric and some others are on a scouting party, I've been told – hopefully they'll be able to come to your aide should you need it." He turned around. "Eruestan, Rowena, I'm afraid I owe the two of you an apology. Unfortunately, we don't have the resources available to provide you with suitable armor or weaponry at this time. Rest assured, once the battle is over, we'll have ample time to get you proper equipment."

"That's fine," Rowena said. "If this got me here from Highever, it'll get me through the next few days, too."

Eruestan had less confidence in his already-ratty apprentice robes. "Er…yeah…we'll be…fine…"

"Take care of your charges, Alistair," Duncan said. "We cannot afford to lose a single man before the battle begins."

Alistair nodded. "I will, Duncan."

"Then may the Maker watch over your path. I will see you when you return."


	10. Join Us, Brothers and Sisters

At a different time in her life, the gates leading to the Korcari Wilds would have impressed Rowena. They were massive, easily three times as large as the ones at Highever, and practically needed their own small army to be managed. This had no longer interested her, though. All that was on her mind now was the fact that somewhere beyond those gates, her brother was waiting for her.

_Fergus, how can I possibly tell you what I have to say? Unless you're already—_

She couldn't let herself think of that. Fergus's survival was not a matter of conjecture, it was an imperative. There was absolutely no need to waste any time thinking about any other outcome.

Fortunately, a crash from behind drew away her attention. "Maker's breath, watch where you're going, idiot!" Daveth hissed at Jory, who had bumped into him. "You're like a bronto in heat!"

"Well, maybe if you'd gone a bit faster, I wouldn't have run into you!" Jory shot back. "You're like a bronto in cold!"

Daveth stared at him. "How stupid are you, actually? Be honest, now."

"Oh, when are you two crazy kids just gonna get married already?" Alistair said from up ahead. "Really, it's heart-warming."

Jory frowned. "Haven't I told you about my fair Helena? I could have sworn that you knew I already had a wife."

Alistair smiled weakly. "That was a jo—actually, never mind. Just stop talking to each other, all right?" The two men backed away from each other, scowling. "Thank you." Alistair turned around and approached the soldier manning the gate, who was busy chatting to a woman to his right.

"I'm just not sure if I should just lance it or what—er, halt!" the man said quickly, catching sight of Alistair. "Who goes there?"

"Alistair, of the Grey Wardens. I have orders to enter the Wilds from the Warden Commander."

"Maker, are all you Wardens _trying_ to get yourselves killed?" the soldier asked. "You've got to be the fifteenth Warden I've let out of this camp today!"

"Well, you know, duty calls," Alistair said. There was a moment's pause. "So, are you going to open it?"

"Huh? Oh, right." The man motioned to the others; with a giant groan, the gates swung open, revealing the vast stretch of woods beyond. Rowena felt Cormac draw instinctively closer to her; there was something very off about the Wilds. An eerie mist drifted through the giant gnarled trees, so thick that she could barely see twenty feet in.

"Maker, I hate that part," Alistair sighed. "All right, men, fall out!"

The group began to file past; Eruestan paused as he passed the soldier. "Er…I'm sorry to intrude, but I couldn't help but overhear what you were saying…and personally I would wait until the battle's over to lance anything. What with infections and all."

"What the—"

"Come on, Eruestan," Rowena said, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him forward. The guard frowned at them and rubbed his backside as they passed through; after Cormac trotted out on the other side, the gates rumbled closed again, cutting off the noise of camp and bathing the area in silence.

The Wilds were even more disturbing on this side of the wall. Not only did the fog obscure light, the leaves above did as well. Off in the distance, she could hear faint howls from a creature she couldn't identify.

"Have to love the Wilds at this time of year," Alistair said brightly. He pulled out a piece of parchment and studied it in the little light available. "Hmm…so, this map says we should continue along this path until we reach a Tevinter statue, then curl around this lake until we hit the ruins we're looking for."

"All while trying to avoid any darkspawn," Jory finished.

"Grey Wardens aren't really in the darkspawn-avoiding business," Alistair said, folding the map and beginning to make his way down the path. "Besides, you all need to collect your blood samples before we get back, so you've got to fight them at some point."

"Yeah, about that," Daveth said. "When you say that, you mean finding some darkspawn corpses, right? We don't actually have to kill them, do we?"

Alistair paused for a moment. "Well, I guess Duncan would never really know _where_ the blood came from…but that's not really the point of this activity. I mean, we have enough darkspawn blood to create our own Archdemon at this point; what Duncan really wants is for all of you to try your hand at fighting them."

Rowena scoffed in spite of herself. "So this is basically a training exercise?"

"In a sense, yes. Then again…" He shrugged. "Once you see your first darkspawn, I'm sure you'll appreciate not having to wait until the battle to confront them."

"Are they that bad?" Eruestan asked.

"You have no idea," Alistair replied grimly. The group lapsed into silence at this, suddenly aware of how foreboding the forest had become. The farther in they went, the more savage everything was. Giant roots interrupted the path now, causing all of them to trip in the relative darkness. Jory in particular seemed prone to this.

"Andraste's bloody ass, can you not?" Daveth snapped as the knight tripped into him for the third time in five minutes.

"This—bloody—forest—needs—bloody—pavement!" Jory huffed, picking himself back up. "Of all the bleeding places in Ferelden…"

He was cut off by a howl somewhere nearby.

"Maker, I hate this place," Daveth moaned, wiping his forehead. "You don't know half of what's lurking in here…"

"Neither do you, city rat," Jory scoffed. "I bet you haven't seen a tree your entire life."

"Well, I'm from here, aren't I?" Daveth shot back. "I only came to Denerim once I was old enough to escape my pa. My gran raised me on stories of what lives in the Wilds. Wolves, bears, Wilders, evil witches…"

"Witches?" Jory asked in amusement.

"Yeah, witches!" Daveth snapped. "The Wilds is famous for them! 50 of them, flying around and swarming on men to seduce and devour…"

"Don't have to worry then, they'll pass you right by."

"Oy, you two, knock it off," Alistair said. "There aren't any witches out here to worry abo—_Sweet Maker_."

The group stopped in its tracks, eyes drawn to a horrific scene. Dangling from a branch above were the bodies of five soldiers, all with their eyes gouged out.

For a moment no one said anything, all staring aghast at the men swaying gently in the breeze.

"What happened here?" Jory whispered, face totally white.

"Well, clearly this is just a game of jump-rope gone horribly wrong," Daveth snapped. "Maker, you're the stupidest man I've ever—"

"Shut up," Alistair said sharply; they stopped for a moment to hear a soft groaning coming from somewhere nearby. Alistair drew his sword fluidly; warily, he stepped forward and flung open the bushes, revealing a severely wounded man lying prostrate on the ground.

"Who's…there…" he wheezed. "Need…help…"

"What happened to you?" Alistair said, stooping down.

"Darkspawn…they swarmed my party…I managed to hide after I was injured…please, you have to help me get back!"

Alistair looked back at the rest of the group, pained. "I don't know if we have time to carry him back…"

"We can't just leave him here!" Rowena cried; looking at him reminded her strongly of her brother.

"There's only one thing to do, then, isn't there?" Daveth said. He pulled out a dagger and took a step forward.

"Whoa!" Alistair said, raising his hand in defense. "There's no need for that!"

"If we don't do it now, he'll only have a worse death later," Daveth said. "Put the man out of his misery."

"No!" Rowena said, stepping in front of him. For a moment, she was sure he was going to attack her; before anything could happen, however, a loud ripping sound interrupted them both. Everyone turned around to see Eruestan step forward carrying a strip of fabric torn from his robes.

"They were torn anyways," he muttered, bending over the soldier. He quickly made a makeshift bandage around the most severe wound on the man's leg; he then closed his eyes, flared his nostrils, and summoned a faint blue light that sealed the more minor cuts on his torso and face. The man instantly stopped panting and sat up in shock.

"I won't be able to heal your leg, but this should help you enough to get back to camp," Eruestan said apologetically.

"T-thank you so much, ser mage!" the man stammered, gingerly climbing to his feet.

"How many men were in your party?" Alistair asked. "How were you attacked?"

"They c-came up out the ground…there were twenty of us and about forty of them, I've never seen such monsters…I don't know what happened…to everyone…" His voice trailed off as he caught sight of the men hanging from the tree. "Oh, Maker…Wilmond…Loran…forgive me, I…I have to get away from here!"

Alistair sighed as the man ran off. "Oh, Duncan is really not going to like this…"

"Duncan?" Jory hissed. "_Duncan_? Who gives a rat's ass about what _Duncan_ thinks! _I_ don't like this! An entire patrol killed by darkspawn?"

"Calm down, Jory," Alistair said. "So long as we're cautious, we'll be fine."

"Oh, and you think these men weren't cautious?" Jory replied, gesturing to the corpses above. "A whole bleeding army of darkspawn in the forest, and they were just waltzing about, singing songs and flashing 'come kill me' signs?"

"Of course not," Alistair said. "However, I'm sure they weren't fully aware of their surroundings."

"And we will be? Look, I'm not a coward, but sending the five of us out here alone is just reckless. We need to head back before things get worse."

"That's the point, though, isn't it?" Eruestan said quietly. "Things are just going to get worse from here. Better face them now than wait for when it really matters later."

"Right," Rowena said, voice still a little uneven from earlier. "Besides, if it comes to it, there's nothing that we can't fight our ways out of, is there?"

"Well said, the both of you," Alistair said firmly. "And if it's any consolation, Jory, know that part of being a Grey Warden is having the ability to sense any darkspawn coming your way. Once we find them, I'll know it before they'll ever have the chance to surprise us—that's why I'm here."

"That's comfort for you, isn't it, Jory?" Daveth said drily. "Even if we die, we'll have been warned about it beforehand."

"I suppose that is a bit comforting, really," Jory said slowly. "Still, though…" He pulled out his sword, a giant claymore that appeared to be well taken care of. "Doesn't hurt to be on the safe side…"

"Excellent idea, weapons out, everyone," Alistair announced. Rowena pulled out her sword and grabbed her shield. Daveth drew out twin daggers and shot her an angry look; she responded with a glare of her own and pushed ahead – she would remember to watch out for him in the future. Beside her, Eruestan glanced at the drawn weapons, looked at his hands, then shrugged and continued walking.

"How are you faring?" she murmured, stepping over a particularly large root.

"Not quite as well as I was five minutes ago, but that's what you'd expect, I guess. How about you?"

She shrugged. "Same." There was a loud crash behind them; they looked over to see Jory pick himself up from the ground once more. "What do you think of them?"

Eruestan hesitated. "Jory's a bit…well, stupid, unfortunately. As for Daveth…" He grimaced. "I might not be sleeping tonight, is all."

Rowena laughed. "Great candidates for future brethren, huh?"

He shrugged. "So long as they fight well enough, I'm happy." The mage shuddered. "Did you see what those things did to their eyes? Maker…"

"Yeah, well, time comes, I'm not waiting on those two for help," Rowena said sharply.

There was a pause; Eruestan looked around in surprise. "Huh," he said. "Usually that'd be the cue for an attack."

The group trudged on for the better part of two hours, the only conversation being spurts of bickering between Jory and Daveth. Despite the lack of activity, it was easy to tell that everyone else was tense, too. Everywhere she looked, Rowena seemed to see something leering out at her; invariably, they ended up being shadows or deformed branches.

All of a sudden, Alistair gasped loudly. There was a clattering of steel as behind him everyone else tensed their weapons, searching wildly for the enemy.

"Sorry!" he said quickly. "I just…well, look!"

Rowena followed his gaze and started as well. Looming over the trees was a giant, angry stone face.

"Is that a statue?" she asked in wonder.

"That's got to be the ruin we're looking for," Eruestan said. "It's done in Tevinter style."

The group pushed through a cluster of trees; on the other side, a giant statue of an angry Tevinter archon shot up like a mountain in front of them.

Alistair whistled. "You ever wonder if they were compensating for something?"

"Where do we go from here?" Rowena asked, still staring at the look of fury engraved on the archon's face.

Alistair pulled out the map. "All right, it looks like if we travel east for a while we'll—" He suddenly froze; at that moment, Cormac began to growl and snap at something in the distance. "GET DOWN!"

At that moment, something whizzed past Rowena's face. Spinning around, she took one look at her adversary and stopped dead in her tracks.

Aldous had taught her about the darkspawn. They were evil creatures, depraved, capable of killing anything they came across, small children included. But they had just been some of the monsters of her childhood; like goblins and trolls, they never felt real, and Rowena had swiftly put them to the back of her mind as she pretended to fight Orlesians and pirates in the courtyard with Ser Gilmore.

What she faced now, however, was no goblin or troll.

It was as if someone had tried to make a replica of a man, but had gone mad before he could finish. The creature's flesh was shrunken and decayed, giving it a leering grin and wide, popping eyes. They seemed to come in two sizes, one tall, one short, yet all wore the same brutally crude armor and bore vicious-looking weapons. Everything about them seemed horribly wrong and corrupted. In short, they were exactly what Rowena should have expected, and nothing like she actually did.

A second arrow flew past her face, jolting her to action. Alistair was yelling something behind her; she paid him no heed and ran forward with a vicious war cry. Cormac bounded in front of her and took down two of the smaller archeres. Leaping forward, she sliced the Cousland blade through the air and rammed it into the neck of a taller darkspawn. To her surprise, the beast was merely staggered by the blow; frowning, she swung her blade once more at its head. Moving fast as sin, the darkspawn locked its sword with hers, catching her off guard and throwing her to her feet. Quickly reorienting herself, she blocked his next blow with her shield; the creature, however, was much stronger than she was, and was able to stoop down until she could smell its rotting breath. It roared in her face, spraying her with spittle. Disgusted and horrified, she tried to free herself from its hold, flinching away from a blow that it had drawn back to strike with. Before anything happened, however, there was a loud crash and the creature went flying.

"Not exactly one for listening to plans, are you?" Alistair grunted as he lunged forward and pierced the creature's head.

She narrowed her eyes and jumped to her feet, using her sword to cut down another darkspawn that was charging behind him. "Not particularly, no."

There was a bellow to her side; she turned to see Jory cleave a larger darkspawn in half with his claymore. There was a fairly nasty gash on his forehead. Over a few yards, Daveth was doing all he could from being torn to pieces by a smaller beast, who was moving surprisingly fast for something so small. She moved forward to help him; before she reached him, though, a blast of cold air encased the creature in ice. Eruestan turned around and performed the same spell on a yet another charging darkspawn; he then waved his hand and shattered the beast to pieces. With a yell, Daveth stabbed his own opponent through the head; the ice broke, emitting a bone-chilling squeal as the creature died.

The carnage over, the group found themselves once more embedded in silence.

"Maferath's bloody knickers," Jory whispered, staring down at the darkspawn he had slain. "_These_ are what we're up against?"

"These are bloody demons, these are," Daveth said a little manically, looking around wildly. "We can't fight these."

"They aren't demons," Eruestan said, surprisingly calm. "And if we don't fight them, no one else will."

"That's bloody reassuring!" Daveth snapped.

"Oh, man up!" Rowena shot back. "None of us died, did we? We're Grey Wardens now, it's our duty to stop these…things when no one else can."

"Speaking of which, what are these things?" Eruestan asked. "Is there any significance to the difference in size?"

Alistair nodded. "I'm not quite sure why they're different, but the smaller ones are called genlocks and the larger ones hurlocks. They're of similar intelligence, but hurlocks are generally the ones calling the shots on the battlefield."

"So go for the hurlocks first," Rowena said firmly.

He shrugged. "Depends on how you want to do it. Hurlocks are more important, sure, but they're also harder to kill." He looked down at the corpse at her feet. "Then again, that doesn't seem to be too much of a problem for you." He gave her a crooked grin; to her horror, she felt herself blush.

By this point Jory had fallen to his knees. "This is madness," he croaked. "We're all going to die."

"Oh, come on, Jory, don't think like that," Eruestan said soothingly. "Here, let me look at your forehead." After examining the gash, the elf closed his eyes and placed his hand over the wound. As before, a blue light emanated from his palm and sealed the wound, leaving a faint scar. "There, that's better, right?" Shakily, Jory nodded and climbed back to his feet. Wiping his hands, Eruestan turned back around to Alistair. "All right, what do we do from here?"

Alistair rustled around in his pouch. "Well, first things first, take these." He pulled out four small glass vials and handed them to each recruit. "Each of you should fill these vials with the blood of a different darkspawn; we'll need it for your Joining later tonight." Rowena stooped down to get a closer look at the hurlock she had slain. Now she could fully absorb how grotesque the darkspawn truly were. Its skin was a mottled, diseased brown that was shriveled enough to reveal black, twisted teeth and a forked tongue. Its blood was black, too, and left a strange acidy feeling on her skin as she filled her vial. Cormac sniffed the vial and turned his nose up in disdain, trotting away to stand guard. Behind her, she could hear Jory retch as he extracted his blood from a genlock. Daveth merely seemed angry as he took his; Eruestan surprised her yet again with his aura of calm as he collected from a pool of blood around the hurlock he had shattered with his magic.

"It looks like tar," he said curiously, walking back towards them.

"Unfortunately, it's not half as pleasant," Alistair said. "Is that everyone, then?" The recruits flashed their bottles. "All right, hold onto those…and let's get moving. It's almost noon, we're running out of time."

The group began to trek around the lake, swatting at mosquitos and checking over their shoulders every time a twig snapped in the forest. Rowena and Cormac soon fell in line with Eruestan, who seemed to be lost in thought.

"Those things are pretty awful, huh?" she murmured, swatting away something flying near her face.

He looked over and nodded. "Way worse than I was expecting."

"You don't seem to be quite as bothered by them, though," she remarked.

"I just think I'm better prepared for them, is all," he confessed. "I used to read a lot about the Blights when I was younger, and almost every book included a detailed description of the darkspawn. That being said, practice is significantly different from theory…" He shuddered and shook his head. "I've got to say, I don't like this at all."

She shrugged. "I mean, they weren't _that_ hard to kill…"

"Yeah, when there were eight of them," Eruestan replied. "Rowena, we're talking about up to millions of darkspawn here. It's always taken armies from countries all over Thedas to defeat the Blights…" He bit his lip. "I just…I just don't know if we have the manpower necessary to stop them here."

"Well, don't tell those two," she said, nodding at Jory and Daveth, both of whom seemed absorbed in their thoughts. "They're ready to desert as it is."

"They won't, though," Alistair said, sidling up behind them; the two of them started. "They can't, really."

"What makes you say that?" Eruestan asked.

"They're both here under tight circumstances. Daveth's a wanted man back in Denerim; he leaves the order now, he'll be hanged wherever he tries to go. As for Jory, his honor's on the line. If he retreats before the battle even begins, he'll never be taken seriously as a knight ever again."

"Poor guys," Eruestan said softly.

"Oh, they'll be fine," Alistair said. "Duncan wouldn't have recruited them if he didn't think they could fight, and by the time the battle comes we'll all be in for it, not just them." He smacked at a fly on his neck. "Maker, I hate this place…"

"Just think, in one day's time, you'll be able to fight to the death against a horde of vicious darkspawn," Rowena teased.

"I'd take a horde of darkspawn over a swarm of mosquitos any day," he said. "But come on, let's get moving."

Eruestan frowned slightly as he pulled ahead. "Is it just me, or does he look awfully familiar?"

Rowena furrowed her eyebrows. "Now that you mention it, yeah, he does…I don't know to whom, though."

The mage shook his head. "Must have one of those faces, I guess."

The group proceeded to walk on for roughly another two hours, largely in silence. Rowena tried to ignore the pangs of hunger in her stomach; breakfast seemed ages ago. Fortunately, the shock from earlier seemed to have effectively shut both Jory and Daveth up. The added silence allowed her mind to wander; her thoughts instantly went to Fergus. Having finally encountered the darkspawn, she felt more confident that her brother wouldn't be slaughtered outright. However, Eruestan's words gave her reason to pause. How long could anyone last out here, far from help and supplies?

_Please let him be all right, my Lady Andraste. Please watch over Fergus until he's safe in Highever. Please please please please please…_

Her prayers were cut off from a yell up ahead. "We're here!" Alistair called, pointing at a ruined tower up ahead. "Hurry up!"

The group ran ahead, stopping atop a hill that looked on the outpost. Although she was far from an expert on Tevinter architecture, Rowena could tell that someone else had constructed this building. For one, the structure was neither ridiculously large nor outlandishly decorated; for another, it was in a far greater state of decay than any Tevinter building she had seen up to that point.

Alistair looked down at the map once more. "Hm…Duncan marked here that the cache should be on the ground floor of that tower…sounds easy enough!"

The moment he said that, the tree he was standing next to burst into flames.

For a second, Rowena had no idea what was happening; then, someone grabbed her arm and dragged her behind a rock. "What the hell's going on?" Eruestan shouted to Alistair, who was crouching down beside him.

The knight peered over the boulder and swore loudly. "An emissary!" The rest of the group stared blankly at him. "Darkspawn mages!"

"They can do _magic_?!"

Ignoring Jory, Rowena glimpsed over the boulder to see a group of roughly six darkspawn surrounding one wearing an elaborate headdress. She swiftly realized that it was casting a spell; ducking back beneath the boulder, she barely avoided being incinerated by another fireball.

"What do we do?" she yelled over the roaring.

Eruestan turned to Alistair. "How far did you get with your Templar training?"

The knight grimaced. "Far enough."

The elf peered back over the boulder. "All right, then, you head down to take that…thing out. Take Rowena with you; the three of us will try to keep the other ones busy."

Alistair nodded and, waiting for the next blast, jumped over the boulder and began running down to the darkspawn. "Stay here, boy," Rowena murmured to Cormac; taking a deep breath, she jumped out as well and began racing down the hill, sword drawn. Alistair was only a few paces in front of her; within a few steps, she had caught up to him. The emissary's escort was directly in front of them, all with weapons brandished. Suddenly, there was a flash from behind, and before either Alistair or Rowena knew what was happening a giant fire ball flew over their heads and crashed into the darkspawn, sending them sprawling. _Well done, Eruestan,_ Rowena thought wildly as she faced the emissary. It was one of the shorter gen-thingies, and the headdress it was wearing appeared to be made of human bones. Trying to ignore the rather macabre fashion choice, she began to run faster…and promptly found herself unable to move at all.

Glancing down at her body, she saw that a faint grey aura was surrounding her, completing paralyzing everything except her eyes. She was still able to breathe; however, she was unable to make any sound. Willing every muscle in her body to move, she looked up to see the darkspawn gleaming maliciously at her, a grey light emanating from its outstretched palm. She glanced over at Alistair and blinked in surprise. While the grey aura was circling around him, too, it was nowhere near as thick as hers and the effect showed. Instead of being frozen stiff, Alistair was able to move slowly, as if suspended in water. The more he moved, in fact, the less effect the spell seemed to have, until suddenly he was moving at full speed. The darkspawn growled and moved to wave its hand again; before anything could happen, however, Alistair's sword sliced through the air and cut the monster in two.

Instantly the spell trapping Rowena dissipated; not expecting it, she fell to the ground.

"Sorry about that!" Alistair said, helping her up; behind them, the rest of the recruits bounded down the hill.

"It's all right," she said hastily, picking up her sword. "Nice trick, by the way. Templar training?"

He grimaced. "Hey, institutionalized brainwashing has to be good for something, right?" They glanced up at the ruins above them as the others caught up.

"I hate this place," Daveth said dully. "I hate it so much."

"Well, we won't be here for much longer," Eruestan said. "Where's the way in?"

Alistair pulled out the map. "Hm…there should be a door around the other side…let's go see."

The Wardens moved around the perimeter of the ruins, careful to keep themselves free of the black mud that surrounded it. On the other side, light trickled faintly into a doorway that had long been kicked in, revealing an interior that was completely covered in vines and weeds.

"Looks like someone hasn't been doing the housecleaning," Alistair said.

They entered cautiously, peering in the darkness for any potential enemies. It was clear that the outpost had been abandoned in a moment of haste; furniture lay helter-skelter around the room as if the previous owners had fled the room, while plates and cups were still set on the table. The rest was obscured by weeds and grass.

"The chest should be in here somewhere," Alistair murmured. "Duncan said it was enchanted – Eruestan, would you be able to detect it with magic?"

He shook his head. "I haven't learned that sort of magic yet…it can't be that hard to find, though…"

"It shall be if you continue to search for it in hear," a strange voice said behind them. Rowena spun around and blinked at what she saw in shock. Standing in the doorway was a young woman, roughly around Rowena's age, who was simply the wildest looking person she had ever seen. Her clothes, clearly homespun, were torn and covered in bizarre charms made from both wood and bone; her hair looked like raven feathers, and was kept off her neck by a strange compilation of string and stone. What was most unsettling about her, however, were her eyes: bright yellow and piercing.

"Who are you?" Alistair asked sharply, weapon tense. "What are you doing here?"

"'Tis I who should be asking the same of you," the woman replied icily. "I have watched your progress through my Wilds for quite some time now, and I cannot figure out what would bring you to this ruined memory in the middle of a vast horde of loathsome darkspawn."

"Yeah, me either," Jory muttered.

Daveth kicked his shin. "Shut up!" he hissed. "Can't you tell she's a Witch of the Wilds?!"

The woman laughed, a throaty chuckle that reminded Rowena of a bird of prey. "A 'Witch of the Wilds', is it? Such simple legends for such simple men…"

"Calm down, Daveth," Alistair said, eyeing her. "She's just Chasind, that's all – keep an eye out for an ambush."

"Ah, yes, you are afraid that wild savages will swoop down upon you!"

"Yes," Alistair replied. "Swooping is…bad…"

"Such eloquence," she drawled. "You, there – I believe it was said that you can do magic. Surely you are of higher intelligence than these cretins?"

Eruestan paled. "Er…I…I…"

The woman sighed and turned to Rowena. "It seems you are my last hope. Are you capable of telling me your purpose within these woods?"

"We seek documents left here many years ago," Rowena said, not breaking eye contact with the woman. "It looks like we're a bit late, though…"

She laughed again. "I like you! You're straightforward. What is your name?"

"Rowena," she said; there was a beat, then she continued awkwardly, "pleased to meet you."

This took the woman by surprise. "I…am pleased to meet you as well, Rowena. You may call me Morrigan."

"Great, I'm sure we'll all be fast friends," Alistair grunted. "Now, do you know where we can find these papers?"

"Such manners," Morrigan said coldly. "As for your papers, I can assure you that they are no longer here."

"No longer here?" Alistair said in surprise. "How? The chest that held them was enchanted!"

"Not very well, in my opinion," she replied. "However was this post abandoned, if your mages were of such high caliber?"

The knight's jaw fell open. "Are you saying…_you _stole them? Why you're nothing but a…a…" He struggled for a moment with his words. "A sneaky…witch thief!"

"It 'twas not _me_ who took them!" Morrigan replied angrily. "'Twas my mother – and she did not steal them! This post has been empty for hundreds of years, you have no right to lay claim to it!"

"The bloody hell I can't!" Alistair sputtered. "Those papers belong to the Grey Wardens, I demand you release them at once!"

She raised her chin. "I care not who you are, your name means nothing here. I could not give you what you desire, anyhow. My mother holds what you seek."

"Why you little—"

"Alistair, stop," Eruestan said, stepping in front of him. He turned back to Morrigan. "Would you be able to bring us to your mother?"

"Now that is a sensible request," she said, eyeing him. "You are not half as daft as I previously thought."

"You want us to _follow_ her?" Daveth asked in horror. "She's a witch! She'll hang us up by our heels and use our blood to cavort with demons!"

"Don't be silly," Alistair said, still not taking his eyes off her. "I'm sure our blood would be used for culinary purposes only."

"Oh, come on, you lot," Rowena said. "The papers aren't here, it's obvious, so either we stay here and twiddle our thumbs or we go to the one place we know they might be!"

Alistair frowned. "All right…you have a point…"

"There we have it, sensible conversation!" Morrigan said. She turned around and walked out of the outpost. "Follow me, then, and keep up; there are many things in these woods it would not do to run into at present."

Rowena walked out of the building and fell into line with Alistair. "So, do you really trust her?" he whispered as they followed the witch; somehow, she had already gotten quite far ahead of them.

"Of course not, do I look daft to you?" Rowena whispered back. "But she's our only option at this point…unless you want to go back to Duncan empty-handed?"

"Fair enough," Alistair admitted. "Still, though, I'd feel a lot better about this if she weren't a mage."

"I thought Templars were supposed to be able to resist magic?"

"I'm not a Templar," he said gruffly. "Besides, I have a feeling her magic is stronger than a typical mage's. If she was able to destroy those enchantments…"

"That may have been easier than you think," Eruestan said quietly, showing up beside them. "Given how old they were, and how run-down that outpost was, I wouldn't be surprised if some of the runes managed to erode over time. I doubt the spells holding it in place were anything near strong enough to make them last for centuries. Still, though, if she is a hedgemage, I wouldn't be surprised if she has spells I've never even heard of. Living outside the Chantry gives people plenty of opportunities to experiment – we should definitely be careful…"

"Right, like we weren't before," Rowena said drily.

Alistair grimaced. "Let's just keep moving. Hopefully this will only prove to be a minor trap with minimal fighting and bloodshed."

Within a few minutes, Morrigan had led them back into the treeline. Here there was no path – even Rowena found herself stumbling over roots and branches. Amazingly, Morrigan seemed to have no trouble making her way through the woods. In fact, it was almost as if she were taking a stroll down a paved street.

Soon, the trees began to thin out again, until suddenly they found themselves atop a small hill looking down on a clearing. Near the middle next to a small creek lay a rather dilapidated hut that seemed to defy the laws of nature simply by standing upright.

"Home sweet home, huh?" Alistair asked sarcastically.

Morrigan ignored him and began walking down the hill. "Mother," she called, "we have visitors!"

Rowena followed warily, waiting for a trap to spring. Out of nowhere, the door to the hut sprung open; her sword tensed immediately, then relaxed when she saw that the only person within the building was a tiny old woman.

"Well, well, well," the old woman croaked as they drew near. "Company, at a time like this? And here I haven't even done the washing…"

"Mother, these people claim you have taken their—"

"Hush, my dear, all in good time, all in good time…let me get to know my guests first…" She cast a wizened glance over the group; from behind, Rowena could hear Daveth whimper. "Hmmm…yes, yes, all as I expected…such important people, too, my, my…well, that is, except for—but then I suppose I can't spoil the fun, can I?" Her eyes focused on Rowena, remaining on her for an uncomfortably long amount of time. Cormac began to growl gently – Rowena nudged him with her leg, not wanting to provoke either of the witches.

"Such fearsome beasts, aren't they?" the woman whispered, peering at him. "I had one once, long ago…I bet there's nothing he'd like better than to rip my throat out and floss his teeth with my veins!" She threw her head back and cackled, a harsh grating sound that echoed horribly through the woods. With a flash, her laughter stopped, and she stared expressionlessly at Rowena. "Hmm…yes, just as I thought…red hair, there's a twist…keep that sword sharp, girl, you'll need it…what's your name?"

"Rowena," she said, unnerved. "R-Rowena Cousland."

The witch stared at her for a long moment, then gave her a wide, toothless grin. "I see…oh, yes, yes, I see very clearly now…oh, that's delicious…you, my child, may call me Flemeth."

Rowena felt her blood freeze. That was a name every Cousland knew well, regardless of how much attention they paid to their lessons. Before she could say anything, however, the witch had already moved on.

"You there, mage – what is your name?"

Eruestan seemed to have learned his lesson from Morrigan. "Eruestan Surana," he said quickly. "How do you do?"

"Politeness, among savages, ghouls, and murderers," she said. "A rare thing this far south, like unblinking eyes deep in the woods at night that won't go away, even after you scream…"

Eruestan coughed uncomfortably. "Well…uh…good thing that's rare, huh?"

Again, she ignored him, looking directly into his eyes instead. "Yes, him, too—perhaps then there's still ho—well, don't get ahead of yourself…hmmm…" She trailed off and looked at the rest of the group. Jory and Daveth, both of whom looked terrified out of their skins, were passed over as her gaze settled down on Alistair. There was a moment's pause as she stared hard at him. Then she sniffed and said, "Hm. I thought you'd be taller."

"I don't…wait a minute, what?" Alistair cried. "We aren't here to chat! We're after very important Grey Warden documents that you supposedly have!"

"And here they are," she said calmly, pulling out a packet of old parchment. "Your seal wore off years ago; I decided to protect them here. I am glad I am able to give them to you now."

"Oh! Er…thank you!" Alistair said, taking the papers from her.

"Mother, you are just going to…_give_ them what they want?" Morrigan asked in shock. "After they invaded our Wilds, attracting darkspawn from every corner of the forest?"

"Yes, Morrigan, I am," Flemeth said. "Dark times are approaching – darker than anyone can predict, and the only people out there who can help us are the Grey Wardens. I can only bow to what destiny dictates."

Alistair bit his lip. "Could you maybe let us know exactly what that destiny dictates? Because that'd be really helpf—no? Ok, I understand."

Flemeth finished glaring at him and turned back to her daughter. "I do believe our visit has ended. Morrigan, be a dear and show our guests the way back to their outpost; I would hate for them to get lost tonight…"

"Promises, promises," Morrigan muttered. "Well, come along, then."

"Oh! Um…thank you!" Eruestan called back as Morrigan began leading them back up the hill. His voice trailed off as Flemeth stared him down from the hut's doorway, face totally expressionless.

"Ok, she's bloody terrifying," he muttered, catching up to Rowena. "Hey, what's the matter with you? You're as pale as Daveth and Jory."

"Hm? Oh, it's nothing," she said quickly, shaking her head. "Hey, how common a name is 'Flemeth'? Is it more popular down south or something?"

He shrugged. "I spent the past 14 years locked in a tower. I'm not exactly an expert on name popularity."

"Fair enough," she sighed.

Within a few minutes, they were back at the ruined outpost. "Here you are, back from whence you came," Morrigan said. "Do try to not get ripped to pieces on your way back."

"Trust us, that's not exactly high on our list…hang on, where'd she go?" Alistair asked quickly, spinning around. Morrigan was nowhere to be seen.

"Nope," Daveth said, pushing ahead. "I have been here too long, I don't care anymore, we are _leaving_. Let's go."

The trek back to camp was quiet, punctuated only by occasional bouts of bickering between Daveth and Jory. By the time they reached the gates, night had already fallen.

"I've never been so happy to see a place before in my life," Daveth said, running up ahead.

"Hail, Grey Wardens!" a soldier on the wall shouted. "Commander Duncan asked me to send you to the old temple of Dumat upon your return."

Alistair nodded. "Thank you, ser."

"Temple of Dumat?" Jory whispered as they walked back through the gates. "Why are we going there?"

Alistair looked straight ahead. "I…I think Duncan's planning on starting the Joining ceremony as soon as possible."

Jory stopped in the middle of the path. "He's…he's doing it _now_? We just got back!"

"Time waits for no man," Alistair said, still looking ahead, "especially if he's a Grey Warden."

"Oh, come on, Jory," Daveth said, irritated, "we're going to have to do it anyways, let's just get this over with."

Alistair led them through the camp, which was now relatively quiet and lit by large fires. He eventually led them between two giant statues of a grim-looking god; the dwarf Unga from earlier stood in his way.

"Ugh, finally," she said, uncrossing her arms. "You there, fire crotch, hand over the mutt."

Rowena frowned. "What? Why?"

"Hey, princess, don't ask questions, ok? Duncan's orders."

"He'll be fine," Alistair said. "We just can't have anyone but Wardens and the recruits at the ceremony."

"I…okay…," she conceded as Unga tied him to the nearest tree. "I'll be back soon, boy." Cormac bayed mournfully and then settled down at the base of the tree, not taking his eyes off her.

Turning around, Rowena looked ahead and gulped. Roughly twelve men and women stood in a semi-circle at the other end of the ruin, Duncan in the center. In front of them was a table bearing four goblets. Alistair and Unga quickly ran ahead, taking their places at opposite ends of the line. Rowena glanced over at her fellow recruits; Jory's eyes looked as if they were to burst from his head, while Daveth seemed incredibly angry. Eruestan, like her, merely looked wary.

"Step forward," Duncan commanded. Catching her breath, Rowena began to slowly approach him. After she had advanced ten places, he held out his hand; stopping, she heard Jory and Daveth collide into each other behind her.

There was a moment's silence as the two men collected themselves – Rowena noticed several members of the Order exchange glances with each other, while Unga gave a rather loud sigh. Then Duncan cleared his throat and began speaking.

"It was during the First Blight that the Grey Wardens were founded. Mankind had been pushed to its brink, and all of Thedas was on the verge of collapse. Then, just as all hope was lost, an idea was presented to the order, an idea that would be the key in our fight against the darkspawn: drinking their blood."

"I'm sorry, _what_?" Jory interrupted, taking a step forward. "We have to drink the blood of those…those monsters?"

"Yes," Duncan said. "As the first Wardens did before us, as we did before you. Drinking the blood of a darkspawn, when combined with powerful magic, gives us great abilities in our fight against the horde. It gives us immunity to the Taint, heightens our senses, our strengths, and enables us to destroy the archdemon." Rowena felt her eyes drift to the goblets on the table before her. Oddly enough, she looked at them not with fear or repulsion, but rather an almost dull sense of acceptance. It was almost as if she had known what was to happen after she had collected the blood within the Wilds.

"Bring out your vials, please," Duncan said. Rowena pulled hers out of her pouch; Eruestan and Daveth did the same, while Jory seemed to hesitate at first. As they held out their vials, a Warden standing to Duncan's left waved her hands, sending the bottles flying to where the Commander was standing. Muttering words no one could here, Duncan proceeded to pour each of the vials into one of the goblets. Having finished, he turned to Alistair and nodded his head. Clearing his throat Alistair bowed his head and said, "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, we shall join you." The others wardens crossed their arms and bowed; Rowena felt a thrill race down her spine. Duncan then raised his head.

"Daveth, step forward."

From the corner of her eye, Rowena saw Daveth walk forward defiantly and snatch the goblet offered to him by Duncan.

"Daveth," Duncan said, not relinquishing the cup, "do you swear to pledge yourself totally to this order, severing all ties and doing whatever it takes to defeat the Blight?"

"Yes, now get on with it!" Daveth said angrily, yanking the cup away from Duncan. Without hesitation, he downed the cup in its entirety, throwing it to the side once he had finished. For a second, it seemed as though he were going to gag; then, he spat to his side and wiped his mouth. "There, that wasn't too baaaaAAAAGHH!"

Rowena's eyes widened as Daveth fell to the ground, writhing in agony, blood pouring from every orifice on his body. Already the flesh around his mouth and neck was blackening and decaying; within seconds, he stopped thrashing, body completely given over to the Taint.

"Maker's breath," Jory squealed; although she would never have said it out loud, Rowena couldn't help but agree.

Duncan looked at him mournfully. "I am sorry, Daveth." The other Wardens bowed their hands and carried him to the side.

The Commander looked up again. "Step forward, Jory."

All eyes shifted to the knight, who looked paler than Rowena thought was humanly possible. "W-what?" he whispered, eyes wide. "I—no, I have a wife, I have a child…I…"

All of the Wardens were deathly still. "There is no turning back now, Jory," Duncan said gravely. "Once you know our secret, you must partake of the Joining."

Jory shook his head, starting to back away. "No…no, you ask too much…too much! I cannot!"

Duncan looked mournfully at him for a moment, then stepped around the table. Rowena blinked; by then Duncan was already atop Jory. The knight screamed and tried to draw his blade. Duncan, however, was far too quick, and drove his own knife deep into Jory's stomach. With a deep groan, Jory sank to the ground, dead.

"I am sorry, Jory," Duncan said sadly, wiping his knife on the grass. Moving back to the table, he turned back to the remaining recruits. "Step forward, Eruestan."

Rowena tore her horrified gaze from Jory to look at the elf, who too seemed much paler than usual. As he took a step forward, she happened to look down at his hand, which was shaking like a leaf. At this, she reacted almost on instinct: "No!"

Everyone in the temple turned at her and stared. "Rowena," Eruestan whispered shakily, "I-I'm fine. I-I'm going to do it."

"Not alone, you aren't," she said, trying to be firm. She turned back to Duncan. "Eruestan and I arrived here together. We'll join together as well."

For a moment, Duncan said nothing, staring at her inscrutably. Finally, he nodded. "Then step forward as well, Rowena."

The two glanced at each other. Eruestan tried to smile weakly at her; however, the gesture fell a little short, as his expression was by far more of a grimace. She nodded and looked ahead. A strange calm had overtaken her. Even though she knew death was possible (or even probable), for some reason she was not afraid.

_I haven't told Fergus yet_, she thought coolly. _I can't die here._

She and Eruestan approached the table, each picking up their own goblets.

"Eruestan and Rowena," Duncan said, "do you swear to pledge yourselves totally to this order, severing all ties and doing whatever it takes to defeat the Blight?"

"Yes," they both said quietly, lifting their goblets. Rowena had only a second to peer down at the black sludge in hers before it was at her lips, falling down her throat. Instantly her stomach twisted. The blood was everything vile and filthy; it tasted like decay and death, and burned her throat as it made its way to her stomach. Beside her, she could hear Eruestan coughing horribly…until suddenly she couldn't hear a thing. Filling her ears instead was a loud ringing; then her sight went, replaced by a light so bright she slipped out of consciousness, falling down, down a pit that had no memory and no future…

* * *

_Million thanks to everyone who's reviewed, particularly the always (even after all this time!) fantastic mille libri. If anyone remembers The Empress or The Rebellion of King Alistair (again, a little while back), these are indeed the same Wardens; however, as I've grown older my interpretations of them and their stories have changed too. Thus, some of the backstory to both of my old ones has changed, while other parts have remained. Thank you for reading, though, and as always reviews are welcome!_


	11. The Battle of Ostagar

_At first, there was only smoke. _

_ Then came the screams, loud and keening, echoing through the void. The smoke flared gold, green, white, black, dancing in turmoil. Eruestan and Rowena stood side-by-side, completely naked. They were on fire – no, they _were_ fire, writhing and spinning under the smoke. Everywhere was pain, pain from moving, pain from standing, pain from breathing, thinking, from heartbeats…then the smoke cleared._

_ They were standing on a cliff, looking down on a sea of darkspawn that stretched as far as the eye could see. Hurlocks, genlocks, horrifying creatures with horns sprouting from their heads; then, there was a massive roar, and a giant dragon fell from the sky. Pitch black, it circled overhead before swooping down to hover over their heads. Venom dripped from fangs larger than either of the Wardens; every part of its body was covered in sharp, jagged spikes, while white, empty eyes stared soullessly down on them. The two flinched and tried to run from it; however, before they could, the demon opened its mouth and released a stream of white-hot flame, engulfing them, burning them to ash…_

Eruestan and Rowena both sat up with a gasp. They were in a tent, lying next to each other on individual cots. The elf quickly grabbed at his chest; the flames that had been searing it were gone. His robes were missing; someone had put him in a rough tunic instead. Grabbing his head, he glanced over at Rowena, who looked about as haggard as he felt.

"What happened?" she asked, rubbing her head. "I feel like I fell off the top of the fortress…"

"No, this feels ten times worse," Eruestan said, wincing. All his joints ached terribly; trying to move sent flares of pain through his body. "I'm telling you, this is the last initiation I'm going through in my _life."_ His stomach grumbled; he suddenly realized that he was hungrier than he'd even been in his life. "Maker, I'm starving! How long have we been out?"

"22 hours and 47 minutes!" someone chirped from outside the tent. The flap rustled open and Alistair burst through, grinning broadly. "Welcome to the Order, Junior Warden Rowena and Junior Warden Eruestan! I'm really glad you didn't die!"

The two smiled and stepped out of bed, stretching to get rid of their aches. "So we survived, then?" Rowena said, cracking her neck. "For a moment I thought we didn't."

"Don't worry, we're not nearly as lucky as that," Alistair said. "Come on, let's grab some food; I know you're both starving."

They walked outside the tent into the quarter reserved for the Grey Wardens. Two rabbits were roasting over the fire, dripping with grease. Upon seeing his mistress, Cormac barked happily and ran up to Rowena's side.

"Don't worry, we fed him," Alistair said as Rowena smiled broadly and gave the dog a hug. "I tried to get him to exercise this morning, too, but I think I tired out before he did."

"Don't worry, I normally do, too," she laughed, looking up at him. "Thank you for looking after him – it really means a lot."

"Of course," he said simply. The two smiled at each other for a few seconds; Eruestan grinned to himself, and then coughed while moving to the fire. "So…are both these rabbits for us, or are there more people...?"

"Huh? Oh, right!" Alistair said, walking over to him. "Yeah, these are both for you two – the others are down on the field already."

"The fiel—oh, shite!" Eruestan said, mouth full of rabbit. "The battle's tonight!"

"In two hours, actually," Alistair said quietly as Rowena ripped off a leg from her own rabbit. "Provided the darkspawn attack when we expect them to."

"Good," Rowena declared. "It's about time we ended this." Taking a large bite of rabbit, she swallowed and looked back at Alistair. "Are you taking us down there after we eat, then?"

He shook his head. "No…for some reason, Duncan wants me to take you to him after his war meeting with King Cailan is finished…which means we do have to hurry." He walked over to the side and pulled open a chest. "Now, we still didn't have time to make you proper Grey Warden armor, but we did manage to get these." He threw a sack of clothes to Eruestan and brought Rowena over to where he was standing. "Proper mage robes for Eruestan, and a standard suit of armor for you."

"Excellent!" Rowena gasped, pulling out a gauntlet. "Thank the Maker, I could hardly breathe in that training armor…"

Eruestan opened his bag and looked at the set of robes. They looked nicer than his apprentice robes, to be sure; still, he couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia for his old clothes. He pulled them out and began putting them on; they were a bit large, something that could be a problem on the battlefield. Hopefully there would be a minimal amount of running when the time came.

Armor on, Rowena pulled out her sword from the chest and attached the sheath to her back. "Are we ready, then?"

"Not quite," Alistair said as Eruestan tied the belt to his robes. "First, you need these." He pulled out two amulets and handed them to each of them. "These are handed to every Grey Warden once they have completed their Joining. They contain some of the darkspawn blood from last night."

"Do they do anything?" Eruestan asked as he placed his over his head..

Alistair shrugged. "Not really; they mainly serve as identifiers if anyone ever questions who we are. Now come on, let's hurry; the meeting's bound to be finished soon."

The three of them hurried through the camp, Cormac bounding beside them. The entire area was eerily quiet; the only sound available was the soft clamor coming from the battlefield. Eruestan shivered in anticipation: something colossal was going to occur, he could sense it.

As they approached the king's tent, a very tall olive-skinned woman blocked their entrance. "Halt," she commanded in a stern voice. "What brings you to King Cailan's tent?"

Rowena blinked. "Ser Cauthrien?"

The woman frowned, then relaxed visibly. "Lady Rowena! What in Andraste's name are you doing here?"

"I'm with the Grey Wardens now, ser," Rowena replied; Eruestan could detect a faint tinge of pride in her statement. "Duncan wished to see us after the war meeting."

"I see," the knight said. "I'm afraid I have strict orders from Teyrn Loghain not to let anyone in; you can wait here, though, until the meeting is finished."

"Thank you," Rowena murmured; she opened her mouth to say more, but was cut off by a load shout from inside the tent.

"Absolutely not! I will not allow so many mages to have such an outlandish amount of freedom!"

"Are you mad, you old hag?!" a male voice snapped. "Do you really think we mages will take advantage of this battle to try and free ourselves? Where would we go? The darkspawn are a threat to everyone, can't you see that?"

"And what happens if one of your mages is possessed by a demon, Uldred?" the old woman replied. "Do you want to be fighting abominations on both sides of the field?"

"Do we really seem so weak to you? How dare you—"

"Enough!" King Cailan yelled, slamming a fist on a table. "Our mages will be strong enough to fight with Templar supervision. I won't hear anything more on the subject!" There were a few grumblings that died out as the king pulled out a piece of parchment. "All right, so here's the final plan. The darkspawn will be attacking here…the Grey Wardens and I will hold them here with the bulk of my armies…while Loghain, you'll charge them here once the signal is lit…are there any questions?"

"Do you really think it wise to keep all the Grey Wardens on the front lines, Your Majesty?" Teyrn Loghain asked.

"Of course," the king said. "Where else would they be? Warriors such as they should be as uninhibited as possible."

"Besides, Your Grace, not _all _the Wardens will be on the front lines," Duncan said. "I shall be with the king."

"Fair enough," the teyrn said. "However, if all our Wardens are on the field…"

"That has been taken care of," Duncan said. "I appreciate your concern, Your Grace, but trust me when I say that I would not put the safety of my order at reckless risk."

"Of course," Loghain said. His tone suggested that he thought otherwise.

"Then it's settled!" the king said. "Let us move to the field at once!" The tent flap was pulled aside; King Cailan stepped out and stopped short. "Why, Duncan, it appears your people are already here! The Grey Wardens are as eager as ever!"

"You put too much faith in these Wardens, Cailan," Loghain grumbled, following him. "Such a stance is a mistake against this threat."

Cailan frowned. "It sounds as though you want us to wait for Orlesian support to confront the horde."

The teyrn scowled. "That joke is no longer funny, Cailan. How could you even suggest that we bring those people back into our country, after we fought so hard to free ourselves from them?"

"Our fight with the Orlesians ended years ago!" Cailan protested. "The darkspawn threaten us all, regardless of nations and history!"

Loghain was not impressed. "And what would your father say to that? Would Maric be so forgiving to the people that killed his mother and ruined his country?"

"Well, then, I believe we're going to have to rely on the Wardens to see us through this fight," the king said coolly. "Loghain, prepare your men for battle. We have enough of a fight on our hands without arguing amongst ourselves." The teyrn bowed stiffly, breezing past the Wardens and heading off to the east. Ser Cauthrien bowed to the king and followed her lord, motioning for her soldiers to follow.

Cailan shook his head. "You know, if I didn't know that he could have killed me years ago, I would swear that Loghain wanted me dead."

Someone snorted; everyone looked over to Alistair, whose broad grin faded quickly under the collective gaze. Eruestan blinked; he suddenly realized why Alistair looked familiar. He and the king were remarkably similar – they could almost be cousins.

"I'll leave you to your men, then, Duncan," Cailan said, considerably colder than before. "I shall see you on the field."

"Until then, Your Majesty," Duncan replied, bowing; the other Wardens followed suit. The king left, followed by the Grand Cleric and a bald mage Eruestan didn't recognize, both of whom looked slightly cross to have been kept in the tent for so long.

"So," Alistair said, turning to Duncan, "what's the plan? Do we fight with you and the king, or will we be fighting on the flanks, or are we charging on the front, or—"

"You," Duncan said calmly, "will be in the Tower of Ishal throughout the duration of the battle."

"We—oh!" Alistair said. "Wait, what?"

"Our plans involve lighting a beacon at the top of the Tower of Ishal to signal to Teyrn Loghain to attack the darkspawn flank," Duncan said. "King Cailan has specifically requested that you three be the ones to light it."

"_What_?" Rowena looked absolutely furious. "We're Grey Wardens, we need to be on the field!"

"His Majesty wants—"

"His Majesty can go fuck himself!" Rowena said hotly. "What's more important, killing darkspawn, or finding someone to light a damn fire?"

"I agree with Rowena, Duncan," Alistair said. "We'll be useless up there by ourselves."

"Without that beacon, Teyrn Loghain won't know to charge," Duncan said, eyebrows furrowed. "It's crucial to our strategy that it be lit."

"Great! We still shouldn't be the ones to—"

"This is not your decision to make," Duncan said sternly. "If the king wants you atop that tower, you will be there. We must all do our part in this fight, no matter how boring."

"This is ridiculous," Rowena grumbled, folding her arms.

"That is beside the point," the Commander said. "These are your orders – do not give me reason to question your obedience."

"We get it, we get it," Alistair said quickly, cutting Rowena off. "Although if the king asks me to put on tights and pirouette through the horde, I'm calling it quits."

Eruestan frowned. "You know how to pirouette?"

"Templar training involves a variety of skills," he said, shrugging.

Duncan sighed and turned around. "The tower is across the gorge and to the right of where we first arrived in camp," he said, pointing to its spire. "From its top, you'll be able to see the entire field. Once it looks like the majority of the horde has been brought into the open, light the signal." He seemed lost in thought for a moment; then, he started and reached into his pouch. "I almost forgot – Alistair, I entrust these documents to you until the battle is finished."

"The treaties!" the knight said in surprise, taking the papers. "Duncan, I… I don't understand. Why give them to me?"

"A battlefield is no place for ancient documents such as these," Duncan said. "Should we have to retreat, I will not have time to collect my things from camp. Thus, it is most practical for me to give these to you until we have a better idea what to do with them." Horns blared in the distance; Duncan turned around sharply. "The battle is starting – I am needed immediately on the field. Head to the tower at once – don't forget how important your role here is."

"We won't," Alistair said firmly, placing the papers inside his pouch. "And Duncan – may the Maker watch over you."

"May He watch over us all," Duncan said quietly. He bowed to them, and then left for the field.

Alistair watched him walk away silently, a grim look on his face. "Do you ever get a feeling…" he began, not taking his eyes off the commander; then, Duncan disappeared beneath an archway, and Alistair shook his head. "Never mind. We should head to that tower straight away."

The three of them began jogging in the direction of the Tower of Ishal, Eruestan trying desperately not to trip on his robes. Out of the corner of his eye, he could tell Rowena was still upset about not being in the fight. Personally, he was rather relieved to be separated from the rest of the fray. The past week had already contained more fighting than he'd ever wanted to be around.

The group made its way through the camp, running around tents and pillars. Within five minutes, they had reached the massive bridge spanning the valley. Archers lined the bridge, looking down on the field below.

"Oh, look," Rowena said almost longingly. Eruestan followed her gaze down and stopped, impressed. The king's army was spread out directly below them, blocking the entrance into the valley. At the front was a huge gathering of warhounds, all snarling and snapping at their leashes. Chantry priestesses were walking through the crowds, waving incense and singing prayers to Andraste and the Maker. Eruestan could make out the king and Duncan standing in the center of the army, towards the back.

Rowena was busy identifying which lords and ladies were present on the field. "Three bats on a blue background, that's Arl Wulf from West Hills…oh, look, Lady Bryant from Farclere is here, that's right by Highever…huh," she said suddenly, biting her lip, "I can't find Fergus…"

"Um…I think that's the least of your worries…" Alistair whispered; Eruestan looked up and felt himself pale. Rain had started to fall, clearing the mist emanating from the Wilds. It was now easy to see the creatures that had begun tumbling from the trees. They began pooling a few feet out of the treeline; at their head was a hurlock wearing a horned helmet, easily a few feet taller than his fellow hurlocks. The horde stretched out far on both sides of the valley; to his horror, Eruestan realized that this had barely even scratched the surface of the darkspawn army.

Rowena stood frozen at the edge of the bridge, while Cormac began howling into the night. "Shh…it's…it's all right, boy," she murmured, unable to tear her eyes away. "Maker's breath…"

The soldiers on the bridge began murmuring anxiously to each other, some visibly panicking. "This is mental!" a man near them shouted, lowering his bow. "There are too many of them! We'll be slaughtered!"

"Shut up and get back in position, Desmond!" his commanding officer shouted, moving down the line and pushing him back. "Your family's lives are at stake here!"

Suddenly there was a massive roar from down on the field; all eyes snapped to the battle, where the darkspawn had started to charge. Eruestan felt his knees tremble. Watching them run, he fully realized the extent of the darkspawn horde. The Fereldan forces were woefully outnumbered.

"_Shite!_" The commanding officer ran to the ramparts and waved her sword through the air. "ARCHERS! DRAW!" The soldiers notched back arrows, most shaking visibly. "LIGHT!" The troops dipped the arrow tips in the bonfires lining the ramparts. "FIRE!" Hundreds of flaming arrows were launched into the night, sailing gently down towards the charging horde. For a moment, Eruestan had the strangest sensation of watching a swarm of fireflies descend onto the battlefield. Then, they collided with the horde, halting its central advance. Even from their position, the squeals of the wounded darkspawn echoed in the three Wardens' ears.

"HOLD YOUR ARROWS!" the officer shouted; there was a whistle down below, and suddenly the hounds were charging, all howling and snarling at the horde. Cormac raised his head and howled along with them; this time Rowena did nothing to silence him. Eruestan felt his throat catch as the Mabari drew nearer and nearer – then, the first hound pounced forward and took down a charging genlock. The beasts collided with each other; shrieks and squeals filled the air as both darkspawn and dog fell to their foes. Eruestan winced as he saw one hound sliced in half by a hurlock's sword; it was clear that the hounds were swiftly succumbing to the horde.

Then, down below, a horn sounded. "FOR FERELDEN!" King Cailan bellowed, his voice echoing up the gorge. Screaming fiercely, the Fereldan soldiers charged, brandishing their weapons.

"We need to go!" Alistair yelled over the clamor, moving past archers who were firing towards the middle of the horde. "That tower needs to be lit no—SHITE!" A giant fireball had blossomed out of nowhere and collided into a spire in front of them, raining down stone on the archers below.

"Well that's just not fair!" Eruestan said without thinking; Rowena giggled a little manically and then raced ahead. "Let's go!" she called, looking back at them.

The three of them dashed across the bridge, Eruestan grabbing his robes to keep from tripping on them. Multiple fireballs were now rocketing through the night. While most rocketed past them, one crashed into the bridge right in front of them, knocking them to the ground and setting several archers aflame. Palms bleeding, Eruestan put out one of the soldiers with a burst of cold air. Before he could help the others, Alistair grabbing his shoulders and pushed him forward.

"The best way to help everyone is to get that signal lit!" he shouted over the screaming; the elf nodded blindly and continued running. Arrows were now raining onto the troops on the bridge; a woman collapsed in front of them, gasping from the arrow jutting out of her throat. _This is hell_, Eruestan thought, keeping his head down as he jumped over her body. Screams seemed to be coming from every direction; it was like being trapped in a nightmare.

Then they were off the bridge, and the sounds of the battle were muffled, like hearing it underwater. "Come on," Alistair shouted, running towards an archway. "The tower's over here!"

Dashing behind him, Eruestan slowed down as he crossed under the arch. The Tower of Ishal was massive, almost as tall as the Circle Tower. "Are we going to be able to get up there soon enough?" he asked breathlessly.

"I hope so," Alistair said grimly. "Now let's—"

He drew in breath sharply; at that moment, there was a soft, terrifying whispering in Eruestan's head and suddenly his gaze was being directed to a spot some fifty yards ahead. There, a small group of soldiers were fighting desperately against roughly twenty darkspawn.

He reacted almost by instinct. As Rowena, Alistair, and Cormac raced ahead, his hand drew back and thrust forward, sending an ice spike flying through the heart of a hurlock about to slice a soldier in two. Another spike was rammed into the head of an angry genlock. There was suddenly louder whispering to his right; spinning around, he glared at two darkspawn that had tried to charge him and with a wave of his hand sent them flying through the air, cracking their necks against the stone wall behind him. Panting all of a sudden, Eruestan looked down at his hands in shock. He had never had power like this before.

Behind him, Alistair and Rowena both cut through the last of the darkspawn and looked down at the two soldiers remaining, an archer and a mage. "What's happened here?" Alistair demanded. "How were there darkspawn here?"

"They swarmed through the lower chambers of the tower," the mage stammered. "They pushed us out of the tower and slaughtered everyone else, they're everywhere!"

"We have to get to that beacon," Alistair growled, looking up at the tower.

"Well, come on, then," Rowena yelled, pulling her sword out of a genlock. "You two, come with us!"

"W-What?" the archer gasped, rising to his feet. "W-we can't go back in there!"

"Like hell you can't!" she shouted, pushing him. "Now man up and draw your weapon!"

Frozen for an instant, the two men drew their breaths and joined ranks with the Wardens, making their ways up the stairs towards the tower. Upon reaching the entrance, it soon became clear that the giant oak doors had been shattered, leaving splinters of wood everywhere.

"Did you do this?" Eruestan murmured; the other mage shook his head.

"We tried to trap them inside, but they broke it open with magic." He licked his lips anxiously. "Do you think they're going to remember it was us?"

"That's the least of our problems right now," Alistair said gruffly. "Weapons out and be careful! Let's go!"

They entered the tower cautiously, eyes scanning constantly for any darkspawn. The tower was mostly dark – the occasional torch or flash of lightning illuminated the hall, revealing broken furniture and various bleeding corpses. The hallway soon opened into a massive chamber; the room faded into darkness before any walls or the ceiling could be seen.

"Where'd they all go?" the archer whispered. "This place was crawling with them a few minutes ag—"

There was a massive explosion as the man tripped over a wire hidden on the ground, sending the Wardens flying through the air. Eruestan crashed into a pillar, landing so hard it made his vision blurry. Struggling to sit up straight, he looked up to see the room fully illuminated with flame, showing a door on the far side that was now letting darkspawn pour in. Trying to concentrate, he summoned a bolt of electricity and sent it flying; it ricocheted off a suit of armor and collided into a genlock, sending it flying. Climbing to his feet, he staggered before sending another bolt into the chest of another charging darkspawn. To his right, Rowena sliced a hurlock through the chest, ignoring a large gash on her forehead; Cormac defended her flank, ripping out a genlock's throat. The archer, miraculously spared from being set on fire, was shooting bolts into the horde collecting at the door, while Alistair blocked a blow on his shield before hacking down with his blade. The other mage lay at the foot of a pillar, not moving. Concentrating back on the fighting, Eruestan drew his breath and motioned to encase a hurlock in ice. To his surprise, the blast of cold air froze not only his target, but also two other darkspawn standing next to it. Stunned, he flicked his hands; the frozen beasts shattered to pieces in a rain of blood and flesh.

Silence filled the room as Eruestan wiped blood from his eyes, the only sound their panting and the crackling of the flames.

"Arly," the archer croaked, running over to the mage. "No, no, no…"

"We need to keep moving," Alistair said firmly. "We can mourn him later." He ran a bloodstained hand through his hair. "Maker's breath…why are there so many here? We weren't supposed to run into anything up here!"

"We could always try telling them they're in the wrong place," Rowena quipped, panting.

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure this is all a giant misunderstanding," Alistair said sarcastically. He glanced at her forehead. "You're wounded! Eruestan, could you…"

"No, I'm fine," she said quickly, holding up a hand. "I hit my head when I landed, nothing more. Eruestan should save his energy. Let's just keep moving."

Alistair hesitated, then shrugged and moved towards the door the darkspawn had come from. "Come on! Follow me!"

They tore into the next room, which led to the room holding the tower's giant staircase. Here the bodies began to carpet the floor; to his horror, Eruestan saw that several of them had chunks of flesh torn from them by what appeared to be teeth. Trying not to gag, he pushed through the room and stepped onto the stairs. He looked up and gulped; the stairs hugged the walls in a spiral, stretching up to the heights of the tower. "It's going to take forever to climb these," he said hopelessly.

"So we better get started now!" Rowena said, jumping ahead. "Let's go!"

They raced up the stairs, Eruestan nearly falling after tripping over his robes. Pulling himself up, he suddenly heard the awful whispering once more. The darkspawn were charging down from the top chamber, descending in droves. "Get ready!" Rowena screamed from up ahead, sword drawn.

Eruestan furrowed his eyebrows. "No, I've got this!" Running in front of her, he closed his eyes and whispered a few Tevinter words. Eyes flashing open, he waited until the first darkspawn turned around the bend before blasting his hands forward. The darkspawn were bowled back; stumbling on their own momentum, they collided into each other until they began falling off the stairs to their deaths on the floor below.

His spell finished, Eruestan suddenly felt woozy. Knees giving out, he sank back into Rowena, who quickly dropped her sword to support him. "Whoa! Are you all right?"

He nodded, taking a deep breath. "S-sorry…didn't realize how much that was going to take out of me." Climbing to his feet, he handed her sword to her and began dashing up the stairs once more. Round and round they went; suddenly, all three Wardens stopped and collapsed against the wall.

"Did you feel that?" Alistair gasped, stumbling back on his feet. "Something big's up there…"

Pushing forward, they reached the landing and stopped at the doorway. Whatever had forced its way through had reduced the door to bits.

"Weapons ready," Alistair said quietly, stepping forward slowly. The chamber was dark; however, somewhere in the black, something was breathing heavily. Eruestan felt his heartbeat skyrocket. Cormac began to growl; whatever was in the room froze and began moving toward them, its footsteps heavy enough to shake the floor. Cormac began to howl as a putrid smell suddenly filled the room.

Then, lightning flashed, and Eruestan's mind went blank.

It had only been a flash, but what he had seen was far more twisted than anything the elf had ever seen before. It was a giant, horned beast, easily twenty feet tall. Its mouth was full of gnarled teeth, dripping with blood, and it had arms the size of boulders.

"An ogre," Alistair whispered in the darkness. The beast stopped moving directly in front of them, sniffing the air. The archer, who had already been breathing heavily, began whimpering loudly, which seemed to draw the ogre's attention. There was a scream and the twang of a bow. Then, the beast roared, so loud it almost seemed as though it was echoing from inside Eruestan's head. There was another scream; however, this was cut off as a tremendous force collided with the floor, sending all the Wardens flying. Whacking his head against the stone paving, Eruestan sat up, dazed, while the ogre seemed to go into a frenzy, roaring and striking the floor.

"Eruestan," Rowena said suddenly in his ear, pulling him to his feet. "Eruestan, we need light! Hurry!"

Gasping for breath, the elf nodded and closed his eyes. Slurring a few Tevinter words, he threw up his hands and let loose a lopsided, flickering white light that began hovering near the ceiling. The ogre roared at the light, so loud it rattled the windowpanes. An arrow was jutting out of its shoulder; Eruestan looked over and saw the bloodied mass that had been the archer. On the far side of the room, Alistair tried to sneak around to the pile of wood that was to be the beacon. The ogre noticed him, however, and charged in his direction, forcing him to dive out of the way.

Alistair scrambled to his feet and ran over to Eruestan and Rowena. The three of them huddled together, looking across the room at their opponent. The ogre was half-shrouded in darkness, staring at them with unblinking, dead eyes.

"Maker, that's creepy," Alistair said. "What are we going to—SCATTER!"

The ogre had picked up a massive building block and chucked it at them, forcing them to dive out of the way. It ran at them, fists dragging; Rowena jumped up and slashed at its leg. With a roar, it tried to swat at her with its fist; she dodged the blow and jabbed up with her sword. It them slammed the ground with its foot; the force sent her sprawling.

Collecting himself, Eruestan tried to cast his freezing spell. A thin patch of ice formed on its arm; it quickly melted, however, and only served to make the ogre confused. Heart racing, he drew in his energies and sent a bolt of lighting arcing across the room. It charred a circle into the beast's chest; now, however, it was furious. Charging, it struck him to the side, slamming the mage into the wall. For a moment, he blacked out; when he came to, the room was once more pitched in darkness, his light spell having vanished.

"Eruestan!" Rowena cried from somewhere in the chamber. "Are you all right?"

"I'm…bhfrine…" he tried to shout, spitting out blood; the blow had made him lose a tooth. "Here, I'w wight…anovver…." He twitched his hand, sending up a very shaky light charm that flickered against the ceiling. The ogre roared and tried swatting at it. The light merely passed through his fingers, unfazed.

"It hates the light!" Alistair shouted, moving behind it. "Eruestan, cast it again!"

"Wha? We awredi haf a—"

"Just do it!" Rowena screamed.

"Ok!" The elf concentrated and tried to throw up a similar ball of light. He underestimated the strength of the spell, however, for a giant ray of light shot out of his hands and collided with the creature's head. Blinded, it swung its arms around, roaring; Alistair dove around it and jumped onto its back, trying to get at its head. Howling, the ogre started swiping at him, trying to knock him off.

This was all Rowena needed. With a fierce cry, she raced forward and leapt through the air, sword over her head. The blade pierced the ogre's chest, landing right in its heart. With a terrible groan, the beast collapsed to the ground with a force that shook the walls.

Alistair climbed to his feet and whistled. "Welcome to the order."

Rowena pulled her sword out of the beast's body and spit. "It's been a barrel of joy. Come on, let's get that beacon lit."

The beacon was a pile of wood connected by an oiled wire to a larger bonfire on the spire of the tower. Alistair stepped forward and looked around frantically.

"I can't find anything to light it with!" he said desperately, peering down at the floor. Eruestan staggered forward and stretched out his hand. "I'f got this," he said, still bleeding. With a flick of his hands, he set the pile aflame; the fire raced up the wire to the bonfire on the roof. There was a flash of light, and suddenly the night was lit up by flame.

"Finally," Alistair sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just hope we aren't too late…"

"Only one way to find out," Rowena said, turning back to the door. "Let's get down there as soon as we—"

There was a loud whisper in Eruestan's head; dazed, he turned around to see a hurlock fire an arrow into his chest. Five others fired, landing arrows in Rowena, Alistair, and Cormac. Gasping from the pain, he slumped against the floor, eyes going out of focus. Oddly enough, he saw a giant black shape circle around the tower; then, his eyes rolled back into his head, and everything went dark.


	12. Loghain's Betrayal

Ser Cauthrien sat quietly on her horse, body tensed for battle. The screams of the conflict were vibrating off the canyon walls. A soldier of lesser experience might have been frightened; Cauthrien, however, had seen far too much to be fazed. The darkspawn would be defeated once Teyrn Loghain threw his men into the fray.

Her eyes flicked up to the Tower of Ishal, some 500 feet up. The beacon still was not lit; she frowned and looked back at the teyrn. "Should we charge without the beacon, Your Grace?" she asked. "Surely most of the horde is on the field by now."

Loghain shook his head, lost in thought. "No…we wait for the signal…"

Cauthrien furrowed her eyebrows, but lapsed back into silence. In the seventeen years of service, she had never questioned the teyrn's orders, and she wasn't about to start now. Indeed, it was hard to see how anyone could disregard the teyrn of Gwaren. He had been one of the leaders in the rebellion against the Orlesians and, along with his daughter, had essentially ruled Ferelden in the name of the crown. If Loghain didn't think it was time to strike, it wasn't time to strike.

She could hear the soldiers getting anxious behind her; she supposed she couldn't blame them. Despite being one of the greatest warriors in Ferelden (this, of course, being an objective fact – Cauthrien hated idle praise), she herself had very little experience fighting the darkspawn. In fact, she had only fought against them twice in the past week during forays into the Wilds. They were terrible beasts, strong and crudely clever, and she could see why the average soldier would tremble at the thought of them. The creatures she had encountered all died, though, and she was sure these ones would as well.

"Ser Cauthrien," the teyrn said suddenly; she whipped her head towards him. "Tell me," he said, still looking forward, "have you ever done anything unforgiveable?"

She paused, reflecting on her past. She had of course killed scores of people; still, that had always been on someone else's orders, and she tried to give them relatively clean deaths. But then… "There is one thing, Your Grace," she said. "Do you remember when you recruited me, all those years ago?"

He nodded. "How could I forget? You saved my life from bandits; it was the least I could do, recruiting you into my service."

"And I was honored to be so," she said. "Yet…I…I left without my father's permission, Your Grace. He forbade me to leave and I disobeyed him."

The teyrn seemed vaguely amused. "This is your unforgiveable act?"

She bowed her head. "Yes, Your Grace, it is."

He shook his head, then stared at her gravely. "Ser Cauthrien – I forgive you."

She blinked, confused. "Your Grace?"

She was met with silence; Loghain had returned to his thoughts.

Suddenly, far up above, the top of the Tower of Ishal burst into flames, flaring wildly in the night sky. Nervous murmurs rippled through the army; Cauthrien tightened the reigns on her horse and turned to the teyrn once more.

"Your Grace! The signal!"

Loghain was still staring ahead. "Sound the retreat."

Her pulse was suddenly very loud and very quick. "What?"

He turned to her. "Sound the retreat, Ser Cauthrien."

The question came like a reflex, Cauthrien had no time to suppress it: "B-but what about the king?"

The teyrn's eyes were flashing terribly. "_Do as I command, Cauthrien._"

For a moment she did not waver under his gaze; then, she looked away and jerked her horse around. "FALL BACK, MEN!" she shouted, gesturing with her sword. "COME ON, LET'S MOVE!" Bewildered, the soldiers began marching away from the battle. As she watched them retreat, Cauthrien couldn't help but feel a knot of dread form in her stomach. _They're your orders_, she tried to tell herself. _Only orders…The teyrn knows what he's doing. He has to_.

She would try to convince herself of this the whole route back to Denerim.

The battle raged on ferociously, more and more darkspawn pouring onto the field with every passing moment. The beasts had pushed them back deep within the gorge; Duncan could barely see the Tower of Ishal from where he was fighting.

"Why haven't they lit that damn beacon?!" Eddric shouted from a few paces over, swinging his axe through the air. "They should have gotten there by now!"

"That's what we get for trusting amateurs!" Unga shouted. Her own axe had disappeared towards the beginning of the battle; she was now fighting with two daggers. Duncan couldn't help but agree with them. The Fereldan forces were buckling fast, and he had lost the rest of the Order in the chaos. If they didn't light the beacon soon, there would be little left for the reserve to save.

A genlock to his left stabbed a soldier in the leg; Duncan stabbed it through the neck. A different genlock finished the soldier off. A few paces away, King Cailan was struggling with two hurlocks; Duncan began moving to aide him. However, before he could reach the king, a stray arrow sailed through the night and landed in his side, knocking him to the ground. Gasping with pain, he looked up towards the king…and that's when he saw it.

Charging down the field, knocking soldiers and darkspawn to the side, was a giant ogre, blood smeared around its mouth. Fifty paces away, Cailan decapitated both of his adversaries with one sweep of his sword, woefully unaware of the monster headed directly his way.

"Your Majesty!" Duncan gasped, trying to pull himself up despite the pain. He looked around for Eddric or Unga; they, however, had disappeared in the chaos. Cailan looked around at the call and instantly froze upon seeing what was headed his way.

"CAILAN! MOVE!" Duncan shouted, struggling to his knees. It was too late; the ogre was upon the king. He tried slashing at the beast's arm, his blade barely grazing its skin. With a ferocious roar, the beast grabbed him and brought him directly to its face. For a horrifying moment, Duncan thought it was going to bite him in half. Instead, it roared again, spraying spittle into the king's face. Then, it crushed its fist together; Cailan went limp in a spray of blood.

"NO!" Duncan yelled as the beast chucked the king's body through the air; he flew like a ragdoll into the canyon wall and collapsed at the base, dead.

Breathing heavily, Duncan looked back at the ogre, which was roaring into the night. The soldiers surrounding it were backing away, cowed; once it started moving, it would make short work of the entire army. Duncan narrowed his eyes and took a deep breath. With a burst of rage, he jumped to his feet and raced forward, blades drawn. Pushing off hard from the ground, he leapt through the air and sank both his swords deep into the ogre's chest. It roared and tried to beat him off; he pulled out his left blade and plunged it deep into its heart on the other side of its torso. With a howl, the darkspawn collapsed to the ground with a great thud, echoing off the canyon walls.

Duncan fell to his knees. Around him, the horde was pressing harder and harder; the Fereldan army was crumbling. His eyes drifted over to the king's lifeless body. Groaning in pain, he climbed to his feet and staggered over to the corpse, collapsing beside it. He was slowly being surrounded by a circle of death; any sense of order within the army was giving way to pure panic. Duncan looked up to the sky; high up on the gorge's wall, the Tower of Ishal was blazing bright against the dark night. _Loghain isn't coming_, he thought dully as people fell screaming around him. _He's not_… Duncan looked around sadly. There was no hope left for anyone still on the field.

There was a flash of lightning – a hurlock alpha wearing a giant horned helmet was charging at him, holding a battle-axe high. Duncan merely stared at it.

_It's up to them now. Only they can save us._

The hurlock's axe swung through the air; there was a brief instant of contact.

Then everything went white, and Duncan was no more.

* * *

_Thank you all so much for your support! Reviews always welcome!_


	13. A Mission Declared

There was a goat staring at Eruestan's face.

With a gasp, he sat up straight, crashing straight into the goat's body. Scrambling to get out of the way, he tumbled out of his cot and stared around wildly, completely disoriented. The room he was in was windowless, grubby, and relatively small. He had been lying under the meat rack; two rabbits and a wolf hung next to his goat, all bearing looks of abject horror on their faces. Bewildered, he looked around the room in a panic, convinced he had gone insane. To his relief, he saw Rowena sleeping on a cot on the other side of the room.

"Rowena," he croaked, moving over to her cot. "Rowena!" He nudged her in the side; her eyes fluttered open and she sat up in a bolt.

"What the—where are we?!" she said frantically, jumping to her feet.

"I…I don't know," he admitted, falling to his knees. "Definitely not the Tower of Ishal."

"The Tower of…" Rowena's voice trailed off; she grabbed at her stomach and looked down in wonder. "Okay, call me crazy, but I distinctly remember having an arrow sticking out of here a few minutes ago."

Eruestan frowned and felt his chest; there wasn't even a scar where the arrow had struck him. Miraculously, all his other wounds had been healed as well; even his missing tooth had been regrown. "Same here…"

Rowena looked at him in horror. "Are we…did we die?"

The elf looked around bleakly at their surroundings. "If this is the afterlife, I really hope not…"

"You are not dead," someone said from inside the room; the two of them yelped and spun around to see the last person either of them expected to see.

"Morrigan!" Eruestan said, shocked. "What are you doing here?"

The witch laughed and stood up from her chair. "You are the ones in my home; do you not remember Mother's rescue?"

"Rescue?" Rowena said. "From the tower?"

Morrigan nodded. "Mother managed to save the two of you and your friend during the battle. 'Twas a close call, of course, but she managed it all the same."

"What?" Rowena asked in shock. "How? That tower was easily 200 feet tall…"

"She turned into a giant bird, grabbed you in her talons, and flew you back here. A bit dramatic, true, but then Mother has always been a bit inclined to dramatics…"

Eruestan suddenly remembered the dark shadow circling around the tower before he had blacked out. "Maker's breath…" This was a sort of magic he'd never heard of before. He furrowed his eyebrows and looked back at the witch. "If you don't mind my asking, why? Not that I'm ungrateful or anything, but why help us when there was a giant battle raging below?"

Morrigan shrugged. "I asked her the same question. I would have understood if she had saved your king – he would have been worth a much larger ransom."

"Much, much larger," Rowena agreed.

"A sensible outlook – not one that Mother adopted, unfortunately." She sighed. "No matter – no use crying over the dead now."

Eruestan and Rowena stared at her. "The…the dead?" Rowena asked. "You mean…you mean the king actually needed saving?"

"Yes, although there wasn't much Mother could do. He was dead before anyone knew what was happening."

Rowena sat back down in shock while Eruestan sank to his knees. "I can't believe it," he whispered. "King Cailan is dead?"

"Along with the rest of your army, yes."

"WHAT?" The two leapt to their feet and stared at her in horror. "That's impossible!" Rowena cried. "We lit the signal! Teyrn Loghain was waiting in reserve!"

"Yes, well, this 'Loghain' left the field after you lit your signal," Morrigan said, raising an eyebrow. "The darkspawn won your battle and completely massacred your armies. The only survivors were stragglers who escaped before the horde could reach them."

"We…we lost?" Rowena looked stunned. "We…this is…this is…"

"This is horrible," Eruestan finished, face in his hands. "We're all lost."

"I concluded as much from your friend," Morrigan said. "He's been awake for a few hours, and has been inconsolable the whole time."

"Alistair!" Eruestan said, looking up quickly. "Is he all right?"

She nodded. "He was greatly injured, of course, but 'twas nothing Mother could not heal. All of you have been convalescing for days. He is outside now if you would like to see him." She walked over to an armoire and pulled open its doors. "Your armor was ruined, you shall have to borrow some clothes from us."

Eruestan stepped forward warily, sure he was about to receive something ragged, maybe even made out of human flesh. To his surprise, Morrigan withdrew two sets of relatively normal traveling clothes. "I believe these, too, belong to you."

Rowena looked up and took the amulet Morrigan was offering her. "You said there were stragglers – do you know if my brother survived? He's tall, with brown hair…?"

"How specific," Morrigan said. "Unfortunately, I would not be able to tell you. Mother, however, might know."

Rowena visibly shivered; Eruestan pulled up his pants and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Come on, we need to see Alistair," he said gently. "Get dressed, and we can get everything sorted out." She slowly nodded and slipped a tunic over her head. Taking a tunic of his own, Eruestan pulled it on and turned to Morrigan. "Morrigan, thank you," he said. "I don't know how to repay this kindness."

She sighed. "'Tis not _me_ you have to thank; I would just as soon have left you dead. Thank Mother."

"Er…will do…" He slipped his boots on and put his amulet around his neck; behind him, Rowena pulled up her pants, stepped into her own boots, and silently tied her hair with a strip of fabric. She then attached her sword and shield and looked up expectantly. "Are you ready?"

He nodded. "Let's go."

She turned over to Morrigan. "Regardless of what you wanted, thank you, Morrigan. We would've been dead if it weren't for you two."

The witch shrugged and walked over to the fireplace. "As you like, I suppose."

The two turned around and stepped outside the hut. Alistair and Flemeth stood staring out into the Wilds, backs to the door. Cormac was lying behind them; upon seeing his mistress, he leapt up and barked joyfully, drawing everyone's attention.

"Cormac!" Rowena said, face lighting up; she plunged her face into his neck and hugged him tight.

"You see?" Flemeth said, moving over to her; Rowena stood up quickly and took a step back. "Both your fellows, alive and well. You had no need to worry."

"Thank the Maker," Alistair murmured, grabbing both of them; he, too, was wearing a set of patchy traveling clothes. "I thought you were dead for sure."

"We're a bit hardier than that," Eruestan said. "But Alistair…"

"I know," he said quietly. His voice hitched a little. "Duncan's…Duncan's dead, along with the rest of the Order, the king…" His voice trailed off.

"It just doesn't seem real," Rowena whispered. "King Cailan…how could we have lost?"

"Quite easily," Flemeth said. "The horde was ten times the size of your army. Odds like that make battles most uneven."

Rowena bit her lip; Alistair, however, turned to her angrily. "If you knew what we were facing, why didn't you warn us? Better yet, why didn't you save Duncan? He was our leader, he would have known what to do far better than us!"

"Arguing the past does little to change the present," she replied. "At the moment, you must focus on your duty. The Grey Wardens are needed now more than ever to unite the land to defeat the darkspawn."

"Something tells me Teyrn Loghain isn't too keen on unity at the moment," Eruestan said.

"That's another thing I don't understand," Rowena said. "Loghain loves Ferelden, more than any man my father'd ever met – why would he betray us at a time like this?"

"I doubt your teyrn realizes the threat he faces," Flemeth said. "Men are often blind to dangers that complicate their desire."

"But what would he be after?" Rowena said. "We all knew he was the power behind the throne anyways – what does he get by betraying the king?"

"I'll tell you what he doesn't get," Alistair growled. "The other nobles will never forgive him once they've realized what he's done."

"Definitely not," Rowena agreed. "Cailan was a Theirin, he had the blood of Calenhad - the Bannorn would never stand for this."

"If the Bannorn ever finds out," Eruestan objected. "I doubt Loghain will ride back to Denerim bragging about how he betrayed the king. We'd have to accuse him, and who would believe us over him?"

"Arl Eamon of Redcliffe would," Alistair said. "He was Cailan's uncle. He has all his troops, too – the forces of Redcliffe weren't at Ostagar."

"Fergus would believe us, too," Rowena said, almost to herself. Flemeth stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder; Rowena flinched, but the witch did not break her grasp.

"Your brother was not on the field at Ostagar," she said, voice distant. "His scouting party never returned from the Wilds. I know not where he is – or even if he is still alive – yet know that you cannot pursue him. The horde is too deeply entrenched in these Wilds; to chase a man through them would be utter folly."

To Eruestan's surprise, Rowena did not fight back. Blinking furiously, she nodded and then looked away.

"Say this Arl Eamon doesn't believe us," Eruestan said, returning to the topic at hand. "What would we do then?"

"I was under the impression that you had greater resources than old noblemen," Flemeth said, looking up at the sky.

"Of course!" Alistair said, starting. "The treaties! Where did I…?"

"Here they are," Flemeth said, pulling them out of her dress. "I must say, I'm becoming quite familiar with these documents; I might not give them back next time."

"Er…hopefully it won't come to that," Alistair said, taking them from her. He flipped through them, shaking his head. "I think I know now why Duncan gave these to me…"

"But that's it, though, isn't it?" Eruestan said, hope stirring. "These treaties force people to fight with us!"

Alistair nodded. "Elves, dwarves, humans, mages…all signed and sealed…"

"I don't know much about warfare," Flemeth said, "but elves, dwarves, mages, and noblemen? This sounds like an army to me."

Alistair looked up at Eruestan and Rowena. "Can we do this? Head to Redcliffe and the rest of Ferelden and raise an army?"

Rowena looked up at him, face firm. "It doesn't matter if we can," she said. "We have to, and we will."

"Spoken like true Grey Wardens," Flemeth said, eyes gleaming. "Tell me, do you feel up to your task?"

Eruestan raised an eyebrow. "Is this a veiled attempt at offering assistance?"

"Oho, you are sharp," Flemeth said. "As a matter of fact, there is one more favor I can do for you."

At that moment, the door to the hut opened and Morrigan walked out. "I think the stew is ready, Mother," she said, stretching in the sun. "Shall our guests be staying for dinner?"

"No, my dear," Flemeth replied, "and neither will you."

"Oh, no, _such_ a pit—wait, what?" Morrigan turned around and stared at her mother. "What do you mean, I shall not be staying for dinner? I live here!"

"Not anymore," the witch said. "Wardens, I offer the services of my daughter to you. Morrigan's magic is strong, and she'll be able to lead you out of these Wilds and around the darkspawn horde."

"Have I no say in this?" Morrigan snapped. "You would just send me away with these strangers, like a worn traveling cloak?"

"My dear, you are much colder than a cloak could ever be," Flemeth replied. "Besides, I know you've been yearning to leave these Wilds for years. What better chance could you have, and for such a good cause!" She turned back to the others. "As for you, Wardens, consider this as repayment for the loss of your king and leader."

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," Rowena said, face unusually pale. "We hardly know her, and once we leave the Wilds, she'll be an apostate mage. That's a huge liability."

"If you didn't want help from mages outside the Chantry, girl, I should have left you to die atop that tower," Flemeth said. "My Morrigan is as clever as they come, she'll not attract any undue attention."

"I cannot say I'm thrilled, Mother," Morrigan said, obviously struggling to keep her voice free from anger. "This was not how I envisioned leaving the Wilds – I'm not even ready, I—"

"You have to be, girl!" Flemeth barked, drawing everyone's attention. "These three are tasked with saving the world from the threat of the Blight; they desperately need your help. Without you, _they will fail_…and then all is lost. These Wilds, this hut…even me."

Morrigan glared at her for a moment, then sighed. "I understand, Mother."

"Good girl." Flemeth shot a look so dark at the Wardens it made Eruestan jump. "As for you three, know that I give you my daughter, my most prized possession in this world. I do this because you _must_ succeed."

Eruestan bowed his head. "We understand."

"Then run and get your things, girl," Flemeth said to Morrigan. "You have a long journey in front of you, you'll want to look your best." Her daughter rolled her eyes and left for the hut. An awkward silence lapsed over the group as Flemeth returned to staring at the sky, whistling eerily to herself. The three exchanged glances; Alistair then coughed.

"So, uh, you have a lovely home…did you build it yourself?"

"Silence, boy," Flemeth said sharply, "I'm whistling."

"I…ok." There was another moment of silence; then, Rowena took a deep breath and said, "If you don't mind, I have a question for you."

The witch looked down and stopped whistling, smiling faintly. "Now this is interesting. What is it, dearie?"

Rowena looked her straight in the face. "Tell me, are you the Flemeth that I think you are?"

She cackled. "That depends on the Flemeth that you think I am."

Rowena frowned and began to ask another question; before she could, the door to the hut slammed open. "I am ready, Mother," Morrigan said, now bearing a rucksack. "Wardens, I am now at your disposal."

"Take this, girl," Flemeth said, pulling out a large jar from her pocket; Eruestan began to wonder what else she had hidden on her person. "It's what I've placed around the hut; the horde will smell it instead of these three. I suggest heading to Manderdale—no, no, Lothering. Yes, take them to Lothering, so many roses…"

"As you wish," Morrigan sighed. "Farewell, Mother. Take care of the hut while I'm gone – I would hate to come back to a messy home."

"You likely will come back to nothing at all, merely smoldering ruins," Flemeth said.

Morrigan faltered. "I…I didn't mean…"

"I know, girl. Now go on – and do try to have a good time."

"Goodbye, Flemeth," Eruestan said, a little awkward. "Thank you for everything."

"Yes, thank you," Alistair said. "I don't know how to make this up to you."

"Defeat this Blight, and we'll consider it even," the witch said. Rowena passed by silently, eyeing her from the side.

"Let us move, then," Morrigan said, walking ahead. "Lothering is about a day's march from here; we should arrive there by tomorrow morning."

"Have you ever been there?" Eruestan asked; the tunic was making it much easier to keep up with people than the robes did.

"A few times," she replied. "I used to go quite often when I was younger to observe the people and see how they lived. 'Tis a small village, not very important at all, yet the chantry there is particularly strong and makes life rather…intolerable, for strangers like me."

"There's a chantry there, and they never once thought that you were a witch?" Alistair asked, smiling. "And I thought I was a bad Templar…"

"Oh, they had their suspicions, and even sent Templars out to find us. The only thing they ever found, though, was their swift death at the hands of Mother's magic."

Alistair's smile faded. "That's…horrifying."

She smiled. "Is it? If they had found us, at best we would have been carted away – at worst, we ourselves would have been killed. Defending your home and your life – is that really so horrifying?"

"Those men were doing their duty," Alistair said. "You didn't have to kill them."

"You would rather wander in the Wilds, get lost, starve and get eaten? My, you are darker than I gave you credit for."

"Erm…that's not what I—"

"Anyways, Morrigan," Eruestan said quickly, cutting him off. "If you don't mind my asking, what sort of skills do you have? Your mother seems to have very strong magic…"

"Yes, Mother does," she said. "I've learned quite a bit from her, too. I am nowhere near as powerful as she is, however."

"No turning into a bird, then?" Eruestan said drily.

Morrigan looked at him, then turned into a raven.

"_Shite_!" The three of them jumped back in surprise. Morrigan morphed back, smirking. "I've never seen anyone do that before," Eruestan said in wonder.

"I have other powers, too, that I doubt you would want to see," she said calmly. "But enough of this idle chatter. We have far to go, and our enemies surround us."

They marched on for the rest of the day, sweating under the summer sun. Morrigan pulled far ahead of the rest of the group, pausing at several points and changing directions, climbing through the trees as though she were part of the Wilds herself. Amazingly, they managed to avoid any darkspawn at all; still, by the time night fell, they were as exhausted as if they had fought half the horde.

"We shall camp here," Morrigan said suddenly, stopping at the base of a large tree. "We can buy tents tomorrow; for tonight, the ground shall have to do."

There was a loud rumbling; the three Wardens looked at their stomachs and then at each other. "Is there…food, maybe?" Eruestan asked weakly. "I'm starving…"

"Oh, Maker, same here," Rowena moaned. "I feel like I haven't eaten in a week."

"That's the taint," Alistair said grimly. "You'll get used to it – I remember when I joined, I almost ate the camp dry. Morrigan, do you think you could make us something?"

The witch frowned. "I am not your cook."

"Hm? Oh! Oh, no, it's not…I didn't mean _that_," he said hurriedly. "It's just, you know these Wilds, these two have no experience cooking for themselves, and I'm miserable at it."

"I will get food," she said, eyebrow raised. "I will also restock my supply of poison herbs. Not that that has anything to do with cooking, of course…"

"Er…point taken…" Alistair waited until she had left to sigh loudly to Rowena and Eruestan. "This is going to be a long Blight."

"So long as we live through it, I won't mind," Eruestan replied.

"That might have gotten a bit harder," Rowena said quietly.

Alistair's face grew somber. "You mean after Ostagar?"

"No…" She took a deep breath. "Look, it's just…Have either of you heard of Flemeth before?" They shook their heads. "Well, there's a legend in Highever that the Cousland family originally came to power after a woman named Flemeth became possessed by a demon and killed her husband, the ruling lord of the area. She was then said to escape."

"So she's some sort of fugitive?" Eruestan asked.

"No, it's not that," Alistair said slowly. "The Couslands have held power in Highever for centuries…if she's the same woman, she's got to be at least 600 years old."

"That's impossible," the elf said. "Magic can't make you immortal."

"You just said you'd never heard of anyone shapeshifting before, and that's obviously real," Rowena pointed out. "Mothers in Highever tell their children stories about Flemeth to make them behave. If that was the same woman, we may have just agreed to something just as dark as the Blight. It wouldn't hurt for us to be cautious, is all."

"I agree whole-heartedly," Morrigan said suddenly; they jumped and looked back. She was carrying a giant cluster of mushrooms. "A fire for cooking meat would attract the attention of the darkspawn horde. These shall have to do for tonight."

"We'll take it!" Alistair said. "Thank you, Morrigan."

She rolled her eyes and walked over to a different tree. "Where are you going?" Eruestan called.

"I shall sleep here," she said, pulling out a cloak from her sack and laying it on the ground. "Do not bother me until the morning."

"Wasn't planning on it," Alistair muttered, picking up a mushroom. He examined it closely. "You think this is poisoned?"

"Maker, I don't care," Rowena gasped, taking a bite. They quickly devoured the rest and lay down, hunger slightly sated.

"Good night, then?" Eruestan asked, looking up at the sky. The mist covered the night before he could see any stars.

"Good night," Rowena said, turning on her side. "Try not to die."

With that the group drifted off to sleep.


	14. Out of the Woods and Into the Wilds

_Fergus was hanging from a tree, his eyes gouged out by darkspawn. 'No!' she screamed, trying to cut him down. 'Fergus, no!' The more frantic she became, the harder it was to swing her sword. _

_ 'Why didn't you save us, Pup?' The were pouring out of the trees, all mutilated. She was sobbing now, desperate not to look at them. _

_ 'Dearest, where were you?'_

_ 'Milady! Help me!'_

_ 'I'm cold, Auntie, I'm so cold…'_

_ 'No!' she screamed. 'No, no, no no—'_

Something long, wet, and slimy was attacking Rowena's face, bathing her in a layer of slobber.

"Cormac, get off me," she murmured, sitting up; the hound barked happily and sat down. It had to have been morning, as everyone was waking up; still, the mists of the Wilds made it hard to tell when night ended and day began.

"Does it hurt, Alistair, knowing that a dog is more intelligent and better mannered than you will ever be?"

"Good morning to you, too, Morrigan," Alistair muttered, stretching his back. "Did you have pleasant dreams about terrorizing small children?"

"My, you two really must be morning people," Eruestan yawned, sitting up beside Rowena. "Anyways, what's for breakfast? More mushrooms?"

"Lothering is but an hour from here, we shall find a much better meal there," Morrigan said, folding up the cloak she had slept on. "We can also find supplies for the rest of the journey at the market."

"With what money?" Alistair asked. "We haven't even got a copper to our names."

"I'm sure we'll think of something," Eruestan said, standing up. "Do some odd jobs, maybe?"

"Yeah, that'll work," Rowena said, pulling herself to her feet. She still felt harrowed by her dream; it was the first time since the attack that she'd had one like it. "Kill a darkspawn for five silvers per corpse?"

"I'm sure we could at least ask for ten," the elf said, grinning.

"We won't be able to get anything if we stay here blabbering," Morrigan said. "Let us move on."

Stretching, Rowena walked forward with the rest of the group, trying to shake her funk. The further they walked, the cheerier the Wilds became: birds began chirping, and within fifteen minutes the fog had all but dissipated. The improved environment as well as Morrigan and Alistair's catty back-and-forth proved to be just what Rowena needed to draw her mind from her thoughts. By the time they reached the edge of the woods, her dream was a distant memory.

They stood at the edge of the woods, taking their first look at Lothering. It was nothing more than a small collection of houses nestled between two hills. Columns of smoke filled the air; a small refugee camp had sprung up in front of the village. Atop one of the hills was the local chantry, its golden spire shining in the morning sun.

"It's much smaller than I expected," Rowena said. "Lothering's well known in the rest of Ferelden, I thought there'd be something worth seeing."

"It might be because it's the _only_ thing worth seeing down here," Alistair said. He pointed to a large, ruined stone structure that jutted off far into the horizon. "The Imperial Highway ends here; the Tevinters wanted to extend all the way down to Ostagar, but Andraste kicked them out before they got the chance. Now Lothering's the only settlement for miles this far down south."

"Not a big tourist spot, then?" Eruestan asked.

"The Wilds are a dangerous place," Morrigan said. "Most prefer to keep their distance."

"And yet you live inside them," Rowena pointed out.

Morrigan looked up at the trees that surrounded them. "The Wilds are my home," she responded quietly. "I am no more afraid of them than I am my mother."

"So, like, quite a bit, then?" Alistair said.

She shot him a withering look and started walking forward. "I do hope you rely on more than your wits in the heat of battle, Alistair, because otherwise we're all destined to failure."

"I have plenty of wit!" he protested, running up behind her. "I've got wit pouring out my ears!"

"Is that what that is? I thought 'twas earwax."

"How long do you think before they start attacking each other?" Eruestan murmured in Rowena's ear.

"To be perfectly honest, I'm surprised it hasn't happened yet," she replied. "I just hope…oh, wow…"

The idyllic campsite they had seen from a distance was far more chaotic up close.. Line after line of makeshift tents filled every open space available, full of crying children and injured adults. Dust clouds filled the air; they hovered over crowds of people running back and forth across the village, carrying furniture, loading carts, and screaming at each other. Rowena coughed and squinted her eyes "What's going on?"

"People are terrified," Alistair said, staring out on the crowd. "The horde's approaching and they don't know what to do."

"You should be right at home, then," Morrigan quipped.

Alistair scowled at her. "Let me guess, Morrigan: this is all just an act for attention because you never had friends while you were growing up?"

"This is no act, Alistair," she snapped. "I could be perfectly pleasant if I wanted to be. Unfortunately for your case, the same does not work for intelligence."

"Oh, cut it out, you two," Rowena said, walking ahead. "Let's just find a way to get some supplies and figure out where we're going from here."

She and Cormac made their way into the village, the other three following. All around them, people began glaring, drawing their children closer and stepping in front of their possessions. "Hmph," Morrigan muttered, "Typical. Guarding yourself from the only people here that could save you."

"Well, hopefully not all of them will feel like that," Rowena said, pointing to a large merchant's cart full of supplies. "Hopefully this one'll be charitab—oh dear." She paused as the merchant stepped forward angrily and pushed a Chantry priestess away from his wares.

"Back off, you lot!" he shouted, yelling at the small crowd gathered around him. "You'll pay my prices or you'll not get anything at all!"

"You are robbing these people blind when they need your help the most!" the priestess cried, getting right back in his face. She had short red hair and a slight Orlesian accent. "How can you be so heartless?"

"You're about to be toothless if you stay this close to me!" he yelled over the crowd. "Now get out of my way!"

The crowd roared; shouts of "kill him!" rippled through it like a shockwave. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Rowena yelled, pushing her way through to the front; barking fiercely, Cormac made the crowd shrink back in fear. "What's going on here?"

The priestess glared at the merchant. "This brute's been charging outlandish prices to profit off of everyone's distress!"

"I'm just trying to make the best of a bad situation!" he protested. "If the prices are so awful, tell the people to stop buying from me."

"They buy from you because they can't buy anywhere else!" she shouted. "These people are fleeing from their homes, they need every copper they can save, but still you insist on squeezing every last cent they have from them!"

He crossed his arms. "I'm merely practicing good business, is all."

"He does have a point," Morrigan said. "All of these wretched beings would do the same if put in his position."

"Well, how much are you charging?" Rowena asked, trying to be fair. "Is it really so outlandish?"

"No, not at all!" he said. "A sovereign for some rope, five for a tent, ten for a cartwheel. All reasonable."

"Oh, well, if that's the case…"

"What are you talking about?" Alistair said, horrified. "Rowena, those are terrible prices!"

"Oh!" She blushed. "I've never really had to buy anything before…"

The merchant groaned. "Don't tell me you lot are siding with this bitch, too. Look, either you help me clear this crowd out or I'm leaving town!"

"Oh, can't you just cooperate or something?" Rowena said, annoyed. "Lower your prices but still make a profit?"

The man spat, then rolled his eyes. "Would that please you, Sister?"

"So long as the prices are reasonable, do as you will," she said sweetly.

"Fine!" he growled. "But seeing as you four seem to be well-off enough to meddle in other people's business, you get the regular prices, no discount!"

"Well, I didn't realize we were going to defeat the darkspawn through mediation of everyone's petty problems," Morrigan sniffed. "'Tis truly an act for the tales."

"A Grey Warden's duty is vague and mysterious, Morrigan," Eruestan said. "Our talents are needed for a wide variety of tasks."

A group of soldiers that was passing by stopped short. "Did you jus' say 'Grey Wardens'?" one of them slurred, sloshing a tankard of beer down his front. "They's the ones that killed the king, you know."

Rowena stared at him for a second, not comprehending. "No, they didn't."

Silence fell over the crowd. "Rowena, drop it, he's drunk," Eruestan said nervously.

She ignored him. "Who told you that about the Wardens?"

"No one needed to tell me!" he said angrily. "I was at Ostagar! I saw what they did! If Teyrn Loghain hadn't told us to turn back…"

"Teyrn Loghain is a traitor and a liar," Rowena snarled. Cormac growled beside her. A circle had formed around them and the soldiers.

Now all the soldiers had turned towards them. "What did you just say, you bitch?" a second one said, drawing his mace.

Eruestan sighed. "Oh, here we go…"

"She said that he's a liar and a traitor!" Alistair snapped, stepping up beside her. "And don't call her that!"

A soldier in the back stopped in shock. "Alistair?" she asked in surprise. "OY! It's them! It's the Grey Wardens!"

Gasps rippled through the crowd; Rowena drew her sword, the steel gleaming in the sunlight.

"Everyone, please, calm down," someone said; they turned to see the Orlesian Chantry sister approach them, hands clasped behind her back. "We're all under pressure from the darkspawn, let us not succumb to petty violence and infighting!"

"Can it, Sister," the woman growled. "These idiots have to pay for what they've done."

Rowena and Alistair readied their weapons; several people screamed. "You want a fight, come and get one!" Rowena yelled.

The first soldier took a step forward; before he could move further, there was a loud crash and he dropped to the floor. The Chantry sister dropped the broken jug she had been carrying and turned to face the rest of the soldiers. One man swung his mace at her; she danced out of the way and kneed him in the groin, then knocked him out with a swift elbow to the temple. The crowd screamed and began to disperse; she ignored the chaos and slammed one man's head into her knee, breaking his nose. A sword was drawn behind her; spinning out of the way, she dodged the woman's blow, grabbed her arm, and with a quick lurch snapped it in half. Throwing the screaming soldier to the ground, she roundhouse kicked the last man in the temple, stunning him and knocking him to the floor.

Panting slightly, she brushed her hair and looked around at the now empty tavern. "My, that got awfully violent," she said with a giggle.

The Wardens stared at her, open-jawed. "What are they teaching in the Chantry these days?" Alistair said.

"Oh, I learned that years ago," she said dismissively, stepping over one of the unconscious soldiers. "We aren't even allowed to breathe too heavily in the cloisters. And besides, I am nothing but a lay sister of the Chantry – or, at least, I used to be."

"Used to be?" Eruestan asked, frowning.

She looked confused. "Well, the soldiers said you are Grey Wardens, yes? You fight the Blight?"

"Yes…," Rowena said. "Your point?"

"Well, then, I'm coming with you."

Eruestan glanced over at Rowena. "That's, uhm, awfully eager of you…"

"Oh, no, I don't particularly want to myself," she said. "It's just, the Maker told me to."

The group stopped and stared at her. "You just get crazier with each passing moment, don't you?" Alistair said.

"I am not crazy!" the sister snapped. The way she said it made Rowena think that this wasn't the first time she'd had to defend herself. "The Maker came to me in a dream! He told me I needed to fight the Blight, and now I know that I'm supposed to go with you!"

Eruestan was giving a very forced smile at this point. "Do you mind if we talk about this first?" She shook her head; the four of them immediately went into a huddle.

"Ok, so she's obviously crazy," Eruestan began.

"But she's also a very good fighter," Rowena countered. "She took out those guys in like thirty seconds."

"Yeah," Eruestan said, "but she's also _crazy_."

"I agree with Eruestan, the woman is hallucinating," Morrigan said. "Why on Earth would you want her to travel with you?"

"I mean, look at that," Alistair said, pointing to the pile of unconscious soldiers. "Besides, sure, she's probably crazy, but it's more a nice, peppy crazy than a 'Watch out, I'm going to kill you in your sleep' crazy."

"Are we really considering this?" Eruestan hissed. "We don't even know her name!"

"Good point." Rowena lifted her head and looked back at the sister. "Excuse me, what's your name, exactly?"

"Oh, yes, how silly of me – I am Leliana."

"Thanks." Rowena returned to the huddle. "You see? How bad could someone named Leliana be?"

"Very," Morrigan said.

"Definitely," Eruestan said. "Plus, I feel like we're not addressing the very frightening fact that she's claiming to speak to the Maker, which, you know, is frightening."

"You know, when I was in Templar training, one of the other recruits claimed he could talk to snakes," Alistair said. "He used to spend hours out on the training grounds, rolling around and hissing."

The group paused for a moment. "Was that an argument for or against?" Eruestan asked.

He shrugged. "More like just an anecdote."

"How insightful," Morrigan snapped.

"Well, regardless of snakes or the Maker, I'm for Leliana," Rowena said. "We need as many good fighters as we can find."

"I agree," Alistair said.

Eruestan took a deep breath. "She did do something very impressive just now," he said to Morrigan. "And if she's right, and the Maker's on our side…" Morrigan scowled and broke the huddle.

"All right, Leliana, you're in," Eruestan said, turning back to her.

"YAY!" She squealed so loud Cormac started whining. "Oh, we're going to have _so_ much fun!"

"I want you all to remember this moment," Morrigan said, "for I know you're going to regret it."

"I have to run and grab my things," Leliana said, brushing the hair out of her face. "Oh, and I'll have to tell Revered Mother Hannah I'm leaving, I hope she doesn't mi—" She stopped mid-sentence and suddenly gave them a very crafty look. "Tell me, how open would you be to bringing someone else along, too?"

"Nope," Eruestan said quickly. "No more Chantry sisters."

"Oh, no, silly," she laughed, touching his arm, "I am not talking about another sister! I mean someone completely different! Come on! I'm sure you'll love him!"

* * *

Rowena stared at the cage before her. "What…what is it?"

"He's a Qunari," Eruestan said in awe. "I've never heard of them being on Fereldan shores before…"

Rowena eyed the man warily, afraid of antagonizing him. He was ten feet tall, dark-skinned with pale white hair. His eyes were cold and stony, staring back at her dully. Every part of the man was covered in bulging muscles; he looked like a living war machine.

"He's terrifying," she murmured, stepping away from him.

"Qunari are known to be great warriors," Eruestan said. "A little intense, though."

"Kindly do not speak of me as if I am not here," the giant said; they jumped away and blushed.

"Sorry!" Rowena said. "I've just never seen someone quite so tall…or frightening…"

"Why is he in the cage?" Alistair asked, frowning.

Leliana shrugged. "Revered Mother Hannah said he killed a farmer and his family up north. I'm assuming that's why."

"And you thought he'd be a good addition to our group?"

"Look at him! He's terrifying! Besides, he's always seemed very contrite to me…"

Eruestan sighed and looked back at him. "Well, what exactly did you do? Was it as bad as she said?"

"Yes."

He furrowed his brow. "Er…how many people did you kill?"

"Eight." He paused. "Eleven if you count children."

"Sweet Maker," Alistair squeaked.

"That's awful!" Rowena cried.

"I agree," the giant said.

"Ok, now I'm confused," Eruestan murmured to Leliana.

She shrugged again. "He's been like that since he got here. Cooperative, guilt-stricken, and not the least bit resistant. He's even refused all food and drink."

"You mean you didn't fight this at all?" Alistair asked in shock.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I didn't want to."

"So you've been standing here without resisting since you got here?"

"Yes."

"And how long has that been?"

"20 days."

"20 days?" Eruestan asked in disbelief. "20 days without food and water? How did you possibly survive that?"

The man squinted at him. "Perhaps because I am a not a weak being that blows over under the slightest breeze."

"I like this one!" Morrigan said as Eruestan blushed. "If you all get her, I vote you let me have him!"

Eruestan sighed. "What do you two think?"

"Scary," Alistair said. "But I'd rather fight with him than against him."

"Same," Rowena said. "Besides, at least he feels remorseful about killing children?"

"Reassuring," Eruestan said. "All right…what's your name?"

The man stared coldly at him.

"Ok…Leliana, what's his name?"

"We aren't sure," she replied. "He has only ever told us 'Sten', but one of the Templars said that's only a title."

"Well, we're going with that. Sten, we'd like you to join our little group."

"No."

"I—wait, what?"

"I am not here to get involved in whatever scheme you are plotting," the man said, sitting down. "I am here to do penance for my crimes."

"And your penance is sitting in here until you die?" the elf asked.

"Clearly."

"But that does not make sense!" Leliana piped up, bouncing from the back. "Penance comes from action, not reflection!"

"These are teachings from your Chantry," the Qunari said. "The Qun does not hold such beliefs."

"I am sure the Qun believes there is more you can do to make up for your crimes, Sten," she replied evenly.

"Such as?"

"Such as helping us defeat the Blight," Eruestan said.

Sten stared at them for a very long time, then sighed. "If that is your goal, then I must assume that you are the Grey Wardens?"

"That's correct," Rowena said.

He raised an eyebrow. "The Qunari have heard many tales of the prowess of your order. I was not aware that you had devolved so drastically."

"Oh, I _really_ like him!" Morrigan said, smiling gleefully.

Sten stood up. "If it's the Blight you're up against, I will join you. You will need my help." His hands rested against the iron bars of his cage. "Your first challenge, however, will be getting me out of this cage."

"Oh, that part's easy!" Leliana chirped. "We'll be back in a minute, Sten!"

She led the group back through the village straight to the chantry, opening a gate that led to a small garden. "You all wait for me here," she said firmly. "I'll grab my things, and then I'll take you to Revered Mother Hannah."

Rowena waited for her to disappear inside the cloisters before collapsing against a wall. "Maferath's bleeding knickers, what have we done?"

"At least we'll be in for some great conversations," Alistair said, examining a nearby rosebush.

"Oh, yeah, just sparkling," Eruestan said. "One never shuts up, and the other never speaks."

"I have no pity," Morrigan said. "I warned you all that you would live to regret this."

"Look, at least they both fight well, presumably," Rowena reasoned. "And, on the plus side, they only _might_ want to kill us, compared to the rest of the country that definitely wants to."

"Well, there's that," Eruestan sighed.

The sound of yelling picked up from nearby. "What's going on?" Rowena asked.

A lone man was shambling past, a swarm of flies buzzing around him. "The king is dead!" he shouted, shaking his fists at the sky. "The beasts have torn our armies apart! We are all doomed! The end of times has come!"

"It wouldn't be a disaster without the loonies, would it?" Alistair said dreamily.

"I think we could do without," a nearby refugee muttered, stooping to get water from the chantry's well. "People like that are only going to cause a panic."

"That's fair enough," Alistair said. "I'm sorry, though, do I…Maker's breath, Ser Donall? What are you doing here?"

"Alistair!" The two men hugged; Rowena, Eruestan, and Morrigan exchanged confused glances. "This is wonderful! I was sure you'd died at the battle!"

"I didn't, no thanks to Teyrn Loghain," Alistair replied.

The knight bowed his head. "Aye, I heard of his betrayal from numerous men. You should be warned, however – the teyrn has blamed the Grey Wardens for the loss at Ostagar."

"We know," Alistair spat, eyes dark. "How does he think he'll get away with this?"

"Because he's Teyrn Loghain," Ser Donall said. "Trust me, though, if Arl Eamon were well, he'd set him straight."

"If he were well? Is something wrong?"

"Haven't you heard?" the knight asked in surprise. "Arl Eamon has been struck ill by a terrible disease that we can find no cure for. Even magic has been ineffective against it."

"Oh no," Alistair said, eyebrows furrowed. "That's…that's awful…"

"We've turned to the Maker now," Ser Donall murmured. "Or, more precisely, Our Lady Savior. All the knights of Redcliffe, including our Templars, have been sent out to search for the Urn of Sacred Ashes. We hope that Andraste's ashes will be able to heal him where all other spells could not."

"The Urn of Sacred Ashes?" Eruestan said, an eyebrow raised. "There are doubts that it even exists – do you really think you'll find it?"

"I can't say," the knight said. "All I know is that it's our last hope. But with the Blight coming…" He shook his head. "I need to keep moving; I don't want to be stuck here when the horde approaches. Alistair, take this." He pulled out a small pouch of money from his pocket. "I've already got more than enough to last me, and you'll need it to get out of here."

Alistair grabbed the money pouch and bowed. "Thank you, Ser Donall. This means a lot."

"It's the least I can do," the knight said, smiling. "Maker watch over you."

"And you!" Rowena said, bowing as he left.

"Arl Eamon is ill," Alistair said faintly. "Oh, this is bad, this is very, very bad."

"How do you know so many people at Redcliffe?" Rowena asked.

He hesitated. "I, uh, I was raised in the castle there for a bit."

"Oh!" She frowned. "I'm…I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"I didn't tell you." He looked down at the pouch he was holding. "Does anyone want to keep track of this? This much money makes me feel a little woozy."

"I'll take it," Eruestan said, pocketing it. "I have a pretty good head for figures."

The door to the cloisters opened again, and Rowena blinked in surprise. Leliana's chantry robes had been replaced by a sleek set of leather armor, a polished bow strapped across her back. "Nice!" she said appreciatively, noting a wicked-looking pair of hunting knives dangling from her waist.

"Oh, thank you!" Leliana beamed. "But let's hurry! I'm sure Mother Hannah is very busy."

She took them into the chantry, which was filled with the wounded and those looking for some guidance. In an office at the back, an old woman was staring blankly at the back wall, slowly pulling out strands of her own hair. "Mother Hannah?" Leliana asked uncertainly.

The old woman started and looked up at her. "Why, Sister Leliana? What in the name of the Maker are you wearing?"

"Revered Mother, I have come to tell you that I am leaving," Leliana said. "I have been asked to fight with the Grey Wardens." Rowena thought her having been "asked" was a bit rich.

"I…well, this is all very overwhelming," Mother Hannah said, putting a hand on her chest. "My, everything is just happening at once around here…where _did_ I put my prayer beads...Are you sure you wish to leave like this, Sister Leliana? We're organizing an evacuation as we speak, you'll be well taken care of.

"I'm sure," she said firmly. "You remember what we discussed together?"

"Ah." The priestess smiled sadly and pressed a tired hand into Leliana's palm. "Go in peace, then, Leliana. Know that the Maker fights with you."

"Thank you, Your Reverence," Leliana said.

Rowena stepped forward. "We'd also like to take charge of the Qunari Sten who's locked in the cage outside the village," she said. "We have reason to believe that he'd be an ideal person to have fighting on our side."

Mother Hannah frowned. "Oh, no, no, I don't know about that… I'd rather not see him released."

"Oh, Mother Hannah, please!" Leliana cried. "He's been so cooperative since he's gotten here, I'm sure he wouldn't do anyone any harm!"

"My dear child, he's killed eleven innocent people! He's a horrible threat to everyone around him!" She tutted. "Are you _sure_ you want to join these Wardens? They must have very clouded judgment if they intend on letting such a beast journey with them."

"Where to even begin…" Morrigan muttered.

Eruestan stepped forward a bit timidly. "I don't mean to interrupt, Revered Mother, but isn't it a good thing that Sten—er, the Qunari, is dangerous? If we're to defeat this Blight, we need all the dangerous people we can find to fight it. That's why we've recruited Sister Leliana, and that's why we like to recruit this man."

She frowned, then sighed and pulled open a drawer in her desk. "Oh, fine. I can't believe I'm doing this, but here you are." She handed a small iron key to Leliana. "Oh, the world's gotten so _strange_ lately…"

"Thank you, Revered Mother," Leliana said. "Would you like this back once we're finished?"

"Hm? Oh, no, my child – I don't think we'll need it soon anyways." She smiled absently. "Maker watch over you, my dear."

"And you as well," Leliana said quietly. As they left, she wiped a tear from her eye and looked up, blinking furiously. "Come on, let's return to Sten; I'm sure he's getting anxious."

If the Qunari was, he betrayed no sign of being so once they returned to him. He remained emotionless after exiting his cage and eating his first meal in three weeks, a stew hastily purchased from the local tavern. He even managed to look faintly disgusted as the others gorged themselves on their own portions.

"Unfortunately, we don't have any supplies for you at the moment," Eruestan said through mouthfuls of food as the giant calmly ate his meal. "Once we can stock up on things, our first priority will be weapons and armor for you. Until then…how good's your hand-to-hand?"

Sten stared up at him darkly, slowly chewing a piece of meat.

"Right…well, great then!" He turned to the rest of the group. "All right, unless there's another person to recruit in Lothering, I suggest we figure out where we want to go from here."

Alistair finished lapping the gravy out of his bowl, then wiped his hands on his tunic and pulled out a map of Ferelden. "Ok, so we have treaties with humans, mages, dwarves, and the Dalish elves. That means our options are basically Redcliffe" (he pointed to a dot in the center of Ferelden) "The Circle Tower at Kinloch Hold" (a dot just to the north of Redcliffe) "Orzammar" (a dot far to the west of Ferelden) "or the Brecilian Forest" (a dot in the southeast). "So, where to?"

"Going to Orzammar now might be dangerous," Leliana said. "You have to take the same mountain pass to get to Orlais, and I've taken it many times. With the autumn snows about to fall, we risk getting trapped in the Frostbacks. It would be safer to wait until the beginning of the new year when the winter becomes milder."

"The same is true for the Dalish," Morrigan said. "Mother says they are impossible to find in the fall, but they hold their clan council in the spring. 'Twould be much easier to find them then."

"So, Redcliffe or the mages it is, then!" Alistair said.

"Ahm, isn't Arl Eamon supposed to be ill?" Eruestan said quickly; Rowena noticed that he looked remarkably uncomfortable. "Maybe it'd be best to get to him before he gets any worse."

Alistair shrugged. "I'm not complaining. Redcliffe sound good to everyone, then?" There was a general grunt of agreement. "Great! Then we're off to Redcliffe!"

* * *

_Many thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed, especially (as always) the lovely milli libri! _


	15. Father and Daughter

Teyrn Loghain was staring at the ceiling, heart pounding for the first time in decades.

He had seen her. She had come to him.

_"Damn you, Loghain_," she had hissed, tearing at her hair with her hands. _"Damn you for what you did._"

He tried to speak, to move to her, but his body had been frozen as if trapped in stone. "_I trusted my son to you, Loghain. You betrayed me_."

"_You don't understand_," he tried to say. "_The Orlesians—_"

She spat on his face; it burned like acid. The shock had jolted him awake; he hadn't been able to fall asleep since.

Loghain wasn't a particularly religious man. He rarely went to Chantings in the royal chapel, and his response to the idea of an all-powerful Maker was feeble at best. A lesser man might have believed that he had been visited by the dead; he, however, knew that he had just been dreaming, that his mind had influenced the Fade and created its own images. That didn't make him any less shaken.

He had half-expected to dream of Cailan; even seeing Maric wouldn't have shocked him. But Rowan? Why had his mind chosen her? Hadn't he always thought that Cailan was everything of his father, and nothing of his mother? Why was his mind tormenting him like this now?

"I did what I had to do," he said to himself. "I did it for Ferelden."

He sighed and stood up out of bed. He was in an inn in the central Bannorn; the keeper had given the room to him free of charge. A small fire was burning in the stone fireplace near the bed. Loghain stood in front of it and stared at the embers, chest bare and slightly heaving. A vague sense of doubt was building in his stomach. Did he feel guilt for what he had done? His dream certainly suggested as much. He had betrayed the son of the only woman he'd ever loved; he'd helped kill the last of the Theirin line—well, second to last, although the odds of that idiot gaining the throne were next to none. He had left thousands of Fereldans to their deaths and destroyed the only order that could purportedly stop the Blight. Yes, Loghain had done terrible, terrible things.

And yet…if he had charged the field, he would have led his men into a suicidal trap. Better to retreat and fight the darkspawn another day on better ground. He wasn't even entirely convinced that this was a proper Blight – there was an alarming amount of darkspawn, true, but without an archdemon the Grey Wardens wouldn't be needed at all. And as for Cailan…there he needed to strengthen his resolve. The king would have brought Fereldan back under the yoke of Orlais; he needed to die.

There was a knock at the door; a moment later, Ser Cauthrien opened the door.

"Forgive the intrusion, Your Grace," she said, bowing. "But Arl Howe's just arrived in camp."

Loghain snorted and nodded. "Send him in."

A moment later the arl walked in, dropping to one knee in the doorway. "Your Grace," he murmured, eyes to the ground.

"Arl Howe," Loghain said, turning around. He grabbed a fur robe lying on a nearby table and draped it over himself. "You took your time getting here from Highever, seeing as it's only a day's ride away."

Howe blinked in surprise. "Oh! So you've heard about the events at Castle Cousland."

"From the mouth of Rowena Cousland herself." Howe started and rose to his feet. "Explain yourself, Rendon."

"My lord, forgive me," Howe murmured, face flushed. "Eleanor Cousland told me her daughter had already been killed."

"Of course she did," Loghain said. "The castle kitchens had an escape tunnel built in the back; Duncan told me that was how they escaped. Eleanor merely bought them the time they needed. A formidable woman."

"Damn her," Howe spat. "I should have put that bitch's head on a spike next to her traitor husband's…"

"I don't want to hear about what befell them," Loghain snapped, his words stopping Howe cold. "Nor are you ever to call the Couslands traitors in front of me ever again. It's a lie that I don't need to be reminded of."

"Forgive me, Your Grace," Howe said, bowing his head. "Though I assure you, Bryce and Eleanor Cousland were planning on betr—"

Loghain cut him off with a look. "Regardless, Rendon, when I gave you permission to exterminate the Cousland line, I meant _all _the Couslands." He pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. "Fortunately for you, Lady Rowena died at Ostagar. There's no one else left to challenge you."

Howe nodded. "Very well, Your Grace. What do you plan to do from here?"

"With the Couslands gone, most of the Bannorn's resistance will have vanished. The only other challenger would be Redcliffe." Loghain looked at Howe coldly. "I trust you won't fail me a second time?"

"Of course not, my lord," Howe said. "Both my men in Redcliffe have already sent me reports back. Eamon's on his last leg, apparently."

"Very well." The teyrn had a slight headache – how many more nobles did he have to slay to keep Ferelden free? "In that case, I ride for Denerim tomorrow. Follow me to the palace, I've sent word to my daughter to prepare the country for battle."

"As you wish." Howe bowed and turned to leave the room. "I shall leave you to your sleep, Your Grace."

"Thank you." Loghain considered something. "Howe?" The arl turned around. "Send word to give Bryce and Eleanor Cousland a proper funeral. They deserve as much."

Howe bowed stiffly and left the room. With a sigh, Loghain turned back to the fire. At least theirs would be two less faces to dream of.

* * *

_Battle lost. Cailan dead._

The words were seared into Anora's mind by now, echoing dimly in the void in her heart. Her father's note had come in the middle of the night; she was currently sitting in her nightgown, a candle flickering on the table beside her. The queen had no idea what to do – cry? Scream? Vomit? Madly, part of her wanted to laugh as well – where could that be from?

_Battle lost. Cailan dead._

Cailan…Her entire body shivered, a long, slow tremor that began in her feet and rattled her teeth. Cailan was her oldest friend – as children, they'd fought dragons, climbed mountains, dueled wizards, all in one afternoon. Marrying him had been as natural as waking up in the morning. He had become a part of her, just as she had become a part of him. And now…now he was gone. Cailan was dead. Her love was dead. Her prince, dead. Her king, dead. The king, dead, dead, dead…

"The king is dead," she said suddenly; Ferelden was without a leader. Something stirred deep within her. _She_ was the leader now. She was the queen – the fate of the country was now in her hands.

"Bloody fucking piles of flaming shite!" Tempering her panic, she controlled her shaking hands to reread the rest of her father's message.

_Anora,_

_ Battle lost. Cailan dead. Grey Wardens betrayed us in attempt to seize power. If any survivors, Order to be arrested. Have retreated with army to the north – will return to Denerim. Have declared myself regent in your name in order to prevent civil war. Must rally the Bannorn – the darkspawn should be contained with looting in the south for the time being, but if left unchecked will overrun Ferelden by this time next year. Be prepared for a large influx of refugees. Shall see you in a week's time._

_ Father_

She lay the note down and frowned, mind whirring. Something was not quite right here. She looked back down, eyes lingering on "Grey Wardens betrayed us." She furrowed her eyebrows and stared into the candle's flame. Anora was of course aware of the history the Order had with the Fereldan monarchy. The war Sophia Dryden had waged with her Wardens for the throne had been a long, bloody one, not easily forgotten though it happened two centuries ago. Still…The queen thought back to Duncan, with his firm gaze and coolly determined demeanor. She had been queen for five years now, and throughout that time the Warden Commander had treated every incident concerning the darkspawn with the utmost gravity, regardless of the seriousness of the situation. The idea that Duncan would prioritize anything over the darkspawn, especially during a Blight, was simply outlandish.

"So he's lying to me," she said calmly. Or, at the very least, he was lying to someone, likely the whole country. There was a lot of ground to cover between Denerim and the Southern Bannorn; if the messenger had been captured, everything would have fallen apart. Anora didn't mind – Loghain was as skilled at subterfuge as he was at warfare, and she had long gotten used to having to guess at the meaning behind his actions.

What, though, did this mean? Going after the Wardens during a Blight would only create confusion and panic throughout the country – history aside, the Grey Wardens were the only ones capable of defeating an archdemon, after all. Why spread lies about their betrayal at Ostagar now, then? The only logical explanation would be that her father was searching for a scapegoat. And if he needed a scapegoat…

"No," she said simply, eyes not blinking from the flame. Loghain had been King Maric's closest friend, Cailan had been the son he'd never had; the idea that the teyrn would betray him was laughable. Her father was the most loyal man she knew; he was almost as driven by his fidelity to the crown as he was by his hatred of Orlais…

Anora could not move, her body oddly removed from her surroundings. Dully, her thoughts drifted back to the gardens she'd been sitting in four months ago, enjoying the fresh spring air. She was taking tea with Cailan – he was talking her ear off about war preparations and battle strategies when all of a sudden Loghain had stormed in, waving papers about and raging about an apparent plan to bring in the Orlesian Grey Wardens. "I'll not see you turn this country into another damn Orlesian colony!" he'd bellowed before storming off, throwing the papers in Cailan's face. Getting the two of them to reconcile had taken a week and a half, by which time the increased war effort had taken their minds off the situation. Cailan had agreed to call the Wardens off – however, she and Loghain had both known that orders had been sent to the border for them to wait in reserve should the worst happen.

Was this enough for her father to kill her husband? Anora suddenly felt very cold, despite the summer heat. Throwing a shawl over herself, she walked over to her windows and stared out onto the sleeping city that lay beyond the palace walls. Her father was a very great man – the entire country knew that – but it was hard to say that something hadn't changed in him in the past few years. She had always credited it to the death of King Maric in a shipwreck; this had been a rather pathetic attempt to convince herself that his increased hatred of anything Orlesian would fade away with his heightened grief. Unfortunately, as time went on, Loghain's fury had only increased, causing upsets with Orlesian diplomats that only a few carefully worded notes to Empress Celene had been able to fix. His irrationality had frightened her; now, it might have killed her husband.

The dwarven clock on her mantel chimed four; she drew her shawl tighter and turned away from the window. In the end, it did not matter what her father had or hadn't done. What mattered was what he told her he'd done. She picked up his message one last time, skimmed over its words, and then gently tossed it into the fire. The time for tears and anger (and sleep) would come later. Right now her people needed her. Running her hands through her hair, she reached for a pen and parchment, quickly writing orders to the city quartermasters and the captain of the guards. She would remain like this well into morning, struggling to ignore the throbs of pain in her hands and in her heart.

* * *

_Many thanks to everyone who's read, especially the ever-lovely mille libri! Please, feel free to review! _


	16. Trouble in Redcliffe

"Let's see…six bowls of porridge and a bag of scraps…that'll come to 18 silvers."

Eruestan blinked. "18 silv…how is that even possible?!"

The tavern keeper frowned. "It's possible cause I said it's possible. Now hand over the money or you're not gettin anythin!"

"This is ridiculous!" Eruestan protested. "Your sign said fifteen coppers for a bowl of porridge, there's no way it could be anywhere near where you're saying!"

"Listen, if I wanted a knife-ears to tell me how to run my bleedin' inn, I'd have moved in with the bloody Dalish!" the keeper roared. "Now pay up or get out of my pub before I slice those damn ears off meself!"

Eruestan clenched his jaw and handed him the money. "Knife-ears" still didn't get much of a response out of him; the other indignities he was forced to suffer through, however, were wearing his patience thin. The innkeeper grabbed the coins and threw a small cauldron filled with porridge onto the counter, tossing a bag of meat bones onto the ground. Eruestan hoisted the bag over his shoulder and yanked the iron pot off the counter – his knees nearly buckled from the weight. Pushing the door open, he squinted in the sunlight and shuffled over to the tree the others were sitting under. "Enjoy this while you can," he said, setting the cauldron down heavily. "We don't have enough money to buy anything else before we get to Redcliffe."

"What?" Rowena said, frowning. "I thought the sign said…"

He pointed to his ears. "I'm seriously thinking about filing these things down."

"Andraste's tits!" She scrambled to her feet. "Do I need to smack _everyone_ in this bloody country—"

He held up his hands. "Rowena, it's not worth it. You maim someone, half the country will come looking for us; we're already wanted as it is. Arl Eamon can give us more money when we get to him."

She frowned and sat back down. "People are such shits."

"You say this as if it surprises you," Sten said. "Yet your way of life thrives on the oppression of others. All people are equal in the Qun."

"Even 'knife-ears' and humans?" Eruestan asked, half-smiling as he sat down.

"As groups, yes," the Qunari replied. "As individuals, some elves can even be ranked higher than humans, if they merit it."

"How do they merit it?" Eruestan asked, surprised.

"A variety of ways – mindless chatter not being one of them."

He coughed awkwardly and started handing out bowls of porridge. "Got it."

"You know, that's really funny, Sten," Alistair said, helping himself to a bowl of porridge. "The Chantry always told us that the Qunari were all about tyranny and despotism and what have you, but from you said it sounds like it's the complete opposite."

"Your Chantry also believes in an all-powerful god and his human fire-bride," Morrigan said. "'Tis hardly surprising that it spouts other bits of raving nonsense as well."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Leliana said, coming up from the road. "That chapel was not nearly as nice as the innkeeper said it would be, the stained glass was _atrocious, _I thought I was in Nevarra. Ooo, porridge! Maker, I'm starving!"

"Help yourself—is that _blood_, Leliana?" Rowena asked, frowning.

She glanced down at her armor. "Hm? Oh, that? That's nothing. Some bandits thought they'd try to make off with me." She laughed and grabbed a bowl. "They'll think twice about that in the future."

Eruestan smiled weakly. "So much for staying incognito, then."

"Oh, pfff," she said, shrugging. "Loghain is searching for Grey Wardens, not some random Orlesian. Besides, I doubt they'll even remember me, I hit them _really_ hard in the head." Sitting down with her stew, she closed her eyes, muttered a short prayer, and began eating. "Ooo, yummy!"

"You know, you're a little odd, Leliana," Alistair said through a mouth full of food. "One minute you're cracking skulls, the next you're singing the Chant of Light and going crazy over Rivaini lace."

"_Antivan _lace, Alistair, don't be tacky," Leliana replied sharply. "And it's not exactly polite to call someone odd."

"I know, I know, I'm uncouth. Still, though, how does someone like you end up in a chantry in the middle of nowhere?"

"The Maker brings us all to mysterious places," she said, perhaps a little primly. "After all, I could say the same about you. You were to become a Templar, weren't you? What happened there?"

"I joined the Grey Wardens, thank the Maker."

"Exactly. Why train to be a Templar at all, then? You're clearly not very religious."

He coughed. "Er…maybe this is better for another time…"

Leliana smiled and daintily ate a spoonful of porridge. "Yes, I agree with you totally."

There was an exasperated groan to their side. "No, no, _no_, this is _my_ food!" Morrigan cried, pulling her bowl away from Cormac's prowling nose. "Rowena, if you cannot control your mutt I shall enchant his mouth shut!"

"It just means he likes you, Morrigan," Rowena teased, standing up and grabbing his collar. "What's wrong with a few more friends?"

"I believe this is one friend I could do without," the witch grumbled. "Take him away!"

Grinning, Rowena pulled him back, only to accidentally crash into Alistair, who had gotten up to grab more food. Taken aback, he fell over, knocking over the cauldron as well. "Oh, hell, I'm sorry, what have I done! Here…" She stooped to pick him up; however, as the grass was now slick with porridge, she quickly ended up falling on top of him. "Oh, balls!"

"It's all right!" he gasped, propping himself up on his elbows. "It's…all…" The two stared at each other for a moment, both panting slightly; fighting back a grin, Eruestan cleared his throat, making both of them blush and look away. Sten rolled his eyes and continued eating. "Shall we get moving, then?" Alistair asked, his voice cracking. "Redcliffe's not far from here, we should be there within a few hours."

"Great!" Rowena said quickly, jumping to her feet. "Let's just move out, then!" She looked down at the puddles of spilled porridge. "Should we do something about this?"

"I don't think so," Eruestan said. "Our friend the barkeep can take care of it. Let's go."

The group rose to its feet and began marching down the road to Redcliffe. It was a beautiful day – Eruestan couldn't keep from looking around himself. At times he still found it very strange to be out of the Tower. For all its beauty, everything was a bit discomforting. Things were still too big, too open; there were moments where he missed the confinement and safety of the Circle. There was no going back to those days, however. He shook his head and tried not to think about all that – it was too nice a day to worry about it.

Eventually, as they reached the top of a hill, Leliana stopped and sighed. "Oh, Ferelden is gorgeous…I could spend my entire life here."

"Wait until you see Lake Calenhad," Alistair said proudly. "It's so beautiful the Tevinters thought their gods used to live in it."

Eruestan smiled – one of his favorite classrooms back at the Tower had a fantastic view of Lake Calenhad. "When were you last by the lake, Alistair?"

"When I was ten," he said, looking wistful. "Maker, it's already been eight years…"

"You didn't come back once you'd left the Templars?" Rowena asked. "Didn't your parents want to visit before you joined the Wardens?"

He froze. "Er…well…"

"Oh dear," Morrigan said, "is this the part where you tragically reveal that your parents abandoned you once they realized you had the intelligence of a patch of moss?"

"My parents didn't abandon me, Morrigan," Alistair snapped, glaring at her.

"Touchy, touchy," she said. "Something tells me that I have hit a little too close to home—or should I say lack thereof?"

"No, you haven't hit close to home! No one abandoned me!"

"Your mouth says one thing, your eyes another, Alistair."

"You know what, actually, fine!" he shouted, stopping in the middle of the road. "I should have said this days ago, so we might as well do it now."

Eruestan frowned; confronting Morrigan now would likely only lead to tears and bloodshed. "Er, Alistair? Maybe we should save the arguments for later?"

"Argum—oh, no, this isn't about _her_," he said, glaring at Morrigan. "There's just some…information about myself that I probably should tell you before we get to Redcliffe."

"If it's 'I'm an idiot', rest assured, we already knew."

"You're hilarious, Morrigan," he said flatly. "Anyways, it's about my parents…Maker, how do I start this…look, what do you all know about Arl Eamon?"

Rowena frowned. "Well, he's…er, he _was_ King Cailan's uncle – he was Queen Rowan's brother. He fought with King Maric during the rebellion and then married the daughter of the Orlesian lord who had taken over Redcliffe. He's supposed to be one of the most morally upstanding men in Ferelden…and by the way you're acting, I'm guessing he's also your father?"

"No! No, no," Alistair said quickly. "That's not what I meant…Maker's breath…okay, here we go." He took a deep breath to calm himself. "Okay, so my mother-was-a-servant-in-Redcliffe-Castle-and-she-wasn't-exactly-married-when-I-was-born-and-by-not-exactly-I-mean-not-at-all-and-when-she-died-Arl-Eamon-took-me-in-and-that's-why-I-know-him-so-well-because-basically-he-raised-me." All this was said in one breath; he stopped and looked at them sheepishly, panting slightly.

"So…is Arl Eamon your father, or isn't he?" Eruestan asked slowly.

He sighed. "No…King Maric was."

There was total silence as this fact sunk in. "You're…King Maric's…you're his…you're…you're King Maric's son?" Rowena asked, eyes wide.

Eruestan thought back to Ostagar, about how similar Alistair had looked to the king. "That means King Cailan was your brother?"

"Half-brother," Alistair corrected. "Cailan was the son of a queen – I'm just the son of a kitchen maid who got swept off her feet by a horny man with a high status."

"That doesn't bloody matter!" Rowena sputtered. "You're…you—_King Maric_? The _king_? Seriously? Andraste's flaming ass, Alistair, didn't you think we might want to know this a bit earlier?"

"What was I supposed to say?" he asked desperately. "'Hello, I'm Alistair, nice to meet you, oh, by the way, I'm the king's bastard son?' All my life it's been a secret. No one wanted to ruin the king's reputation, and then no one wanted me to ever challenge Cailan's place on the throne. Only a handful of people have ever known – not even Arlessa Isolde knew."

"Isolde?" Leliana asked, looking over sharply. "Is he married to Isolde de Banbois?"

"Uh…maybe…do you know her?"

"I know of her," she said, frowning. "And I can't imagine she was thrilled to have a bastard living in her household."

"She definitely wasn't," he said. "Arl Eamon always stressed to her that I wasn't his son, but because he wouldn't tell her who my father was, she was sure he was lying to her. Lady Isolde thought I was competition for any of her children to inherit the arling, and once their son Connor was born, she forced him to send me away."

"So if she didn't know, who else did?" Rowena asked.

He shrugged. "I'm not totally sure, to be honest. King Maric, obviously…Arl Eamon, his younger brother Bann Teagan…and then probably Teyrn Loghain."

"Loghain knows?" Eruestan said, shocked.

"Why wouldn't he? He was Maric's best friend – besides, I was at best an inconvenience and at worst a threat to the throne, Loghain would have had to have known."

"What about King Cailan?"

He snorted. "If he knew, he never bothered telling me. I ran into him all the time when he came to Redcliffe, and each time I was royally ignored."

A thought flashed across Eruestan's mind. "Did King Cailan have any children?"

"No, he didn't," Rowena said. She stopped suddenly and let out the profanest stream of swear words Eruestan had ever heard. "Alistair! You're the king of Ferelden!"

Eruestan hadn't known that the human face was capable of expressing that much horror. "No! No, no, no, no, no, I'm not," he said, shaking his head vigorously. "It was made very, _very_ clear to me that there was no room for a bastard pretender to the throne – not that I ever wanted it, mind you. If anyone's the heir, it's Arl Eamon; he was Cailan's uncle, he's very respected, and…why are you smiling like that?"

She had a very wicked grin. "Oh, no reason, Your Majesty. My apologies, Your Majesty."

"No, no, no, no, none of that," he said, flushing. "Forget I said anything, okay? There are millions of people more qualified than I am; I'm just simple, plain, old Alistair. Nothing special about me at all."

"Finally, we agree on something." Morrigan said. "Oh, and Alistair? Were you very close with your father the king?"

He frowned and shook his head. "No, of course not, I never even met him."

"So I suppose you were abandoned after all, then?"

He scowled. "You know, I really hate you, Morrigan."

She smiled serenely and began walking ahead. "I've no idea what you're talking about…"

"Well, I for one think it's awfully romantic," Leliana said excitedly as they started walking down the road. "A disgraced bastard king fighting to save his country from destruction? It's like something from a tale!"

"Yeah, a horror story," Alistair said. "Now, let's just hurry up, all right? Redcliffe's not far at all."

"As you wish, Sire," Rowena and Eruestan said in unison, bowing; grumbling, Alistair pushed ahead and began making rapid progress down the road.

Roughly three hours later, Alistair stopped again. "Look," he said, pointing to a tower just peeking over the nearest hill. "That's Redcliffe Castle! We've made it!"

"Why do they call it Redcliffe, I wonder?" Leliana asked. "In Orlais, when things are called 'red', it is often because of a long history of bloody battles and warfare in the area."

"Er…that could be it," Alistair said. "To be honest, I always thought it was because the cliffs are red."

"Oh!" She blinked. "Fereldans are rather simple, are they not?"

"That's putting it lightly," Sten said.

"Not a fan of Ferelden, Sten?" Alistair asked, looking over his shoulder. "How long have you been here, anyways?"

There was a distant look in the Qunari's eyes. "Far, far too long."

"That's – hang on," Eruestan said, looking at the hill in front of them. Someone was running down it madly, arms flailing about in the air. "What's going on here?"

"Turn back!" the man yelled, a knapsack bouncing comically on his back. "Run away while ye can!"

"Oh, this should be promising," Morrigan muttered.

Rowena smirked and waved to the man. "Oy! What's the matter here?"

He stopped in front of them, grabbing a stitch in his side. "You lot had better not be goin into Redcliffe," he said, panting. "I only just sneaked out meself."

"Sneaked out? Why?" Alistair asked sharply. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't anyone know?" the man asked in horror. "Maker preserve us, Bann Teagan's been promisin us that the whole country would be sendin help…"

"Bann Teagan? What about Arl Eamon?" he said. "We've heard he's ill – has he gotten worse?"

"Gotten worse? We don't bloody know if he's even alive! No one's heard from the castle in days!"

"What? Why?"

"Why—we're bloody under attack!" the man cried. "Every night, monsters are pourin out of the castle and attackin the village! We've been fightin, but every night we lose more and more men, and they only get stronger!"

"That…what do you mean?" Alistair asked, face pale.

"Every night at sunrise, they retreat back to the castle, draggin anyone they can find with 'em…" he shuddered. "The next night…the people they took with 'em have turned into 'em, and they're fightin against us…"

"What sort of monsters are they?" Eruestan asked, frowning. That description sounded vaguely like something he'd read about in the Tower…but then that couldn't possibly be happening at Redcliffe.

"Hell if I know," the man said. "Bann Teagan's been keepin us in the dark – he's says that we all stay and fight, though. Won't let us leave, he's having his bodyguard do patrols during the day. I know we're not gonna outlast these things, though, so I'm gettin out while I can."

"What? How can you leave? Your home's under attack!" Rowena yelled as he began to run down the road.

"They can have me home!" he called back, sack bouncing. "I want me life!"

She shook her head. "That's loyalty for you."

Alistair turned to Eruestan and Morrigan, looking rather pale. "Do either of you have any idea what this could be? A monster that's capable of converting its victims to its side?"

The two mages exchanged glances. "I have a hunch," Eruestan said slowly. "But I can't see how it could happen here. I need more information before I can say anything."

"Well, we're not going to find anything out by standing here," Rowena said, putting a hand on Alistair's arm. "Let's go to the village and figure out what's happening."

When they reached the top of the hill, the party stopped and stared in horror. Clouds of smoke were drifting up from Redcliffe Village, billowing over the piles of wood that had once been buildings. The roads in town were littered with broken furniture, ruined weapons, and dead bodies, while ravens and crows circled overhead, swooping down to feast. The village square was still largely intact, protected by a barricade of splintered wood and stone. A second, larger barricade blocked the path leading up to the castle, which loomed ominously on the cliffs overhead.

Leliana coughed. "Well, you were right, Alistair, the lake is very lovely."

"Thank you, Leliana," he whispered. "Maker's breath…"

Rowena grasped his hand and squeezed it. "It's all right," she said gently. "Look, there's a group of people around the chantry – I'm sure they can lead us to Bann Teagan, and he can show us how to help." He nodded slowly and began walking down the hill.

Their descent was slow and long; Eruestan could feel his heart rate rise. There was a distinct aura of eeriness bathing the village – even the areas left untouched felt off, somehow, as though they were tainted by despair. There was a strange pulse of energy throughout the village, one that made him feel sick to his stomach.

Fortunately, the sense of uneasiness faded the further they entered the town. The remaining villagers had gathered in the village square, treating wounds and distributing food. Everyone looked exhausted; parents stared expressionless out into the distance while children too tired to scream leaned dully against them. The more severely-injured seemed to be located within the chantry, whose open doors revealed a small army of sisters all tending to the wounds of the fallen.

A group of men were having a heated discussion in the center of the square, gesturing angrily towards the castle. "I've put up with this long enough, milord," one man said gruffly. "As mayor of this village, I'm supposed te take care of these people, and I can't let ye keep carryin on with this madness. We shoulda been out of here the moment them things first came pourin out the castle."

"My brother and his family are still trapped in there, Murdock," the other man replied sharply. "I will not leave Redcliffe until we've tried our hardest to rescue them."

Murdock snorted. "Rescue? The arl's been there for three nights – ye'll get us all killed just to find a pile of rags and bones!"

"Be that as it may, we're still going to try," the man growled. "Until then, not another man or woman is to leave this village. Have I made myself clear?"

"Ye have," Murdock spat. "Yer a damned fool, Bann Teagan."

"Bann Teagan!" Alistair cried, running forward. "Is that you?"

The man turned around, revealing a handsome, tanned face. "_Alistair_? Maker be praised!" The bann dashed forward and swept the Warden up in a huge embrace.

"Oh! Uh…hi to you, too," Alistair said, voice muffled by the bann's tunic.

"Thank the Maker you're all right," Teagan said, smiling broadly as he let go of Alistair. "Teyrn Loghain told the country the Wardens were all lost at Ostagar – I was sure you had died with them."

"Almost," Alistair said grimly. "Not quite." He gestured to Rowena and Eruestan. "The three of us managed to get out in time."

Teagan nodded vaguely at Eruestan, then blinked when he saw Rowena. "Lady Rowena! You're a Grey Warden?"

She smiled and nodded. "It's nice to see you again, Your Lordship."

"I'm just relieved to be talking to someone who should be twice dead," Teagan said bluntly. "I was told you were killed in the sack of Castle Cousland."

"Rendon Howe would like that to be true," she said, voice cold. "Unfortunately for him, it's not."

Teagan looked hesitant. "Forgive me, but he's…not the only one. Part of Loghain's proclamations involved renouncing House Cousland as traitors to Ferelden and the crown."

Eruestan held his breath; Rowena had turned pale. "What?"

He nodded. "Arl Howe has been commended for taking the initiative in crushing a rebellion led by your father before it could get off the ground. Highever has been given to Amaranthine and a bounty has been placed on any surviving Couslands."

"That's ridiculous!" Alistair said hotly; Rowena had fallen silent. "It's Loghain who betrayed Cailan, not Bryce Cousland!"

"Eamon and I feared as much. Loghain has assumed a great deal of power in the last few weeks – he's now Queen Anora's regent, and he's taken full control of the military. Eamon wanted to call a Landsmeet to challenge him; that was before all this, however…"

"What's going on, Your Lordship?" Alistair asked. "Monsters coming from the castle?"

Teagan sighed and shrugged helplessly. "I wish I could tell you, but I've no idea. Five days ago Eamon was in stable condition – very ill, but able to speak, to think. I left that day for my village in Rainesfere to settle a few business matters, and I only got back after the first attack."

"Took us all by surprise, they did," Murdock grumbled. "One minute yer sound asleep, snorin away, the next there's a bleedin corpse crashing through yer door tryin ter eat yer children. Ruinin everythin, they are."

"Corpses?" Eruestan said sharply. "Corpses of what?"

"People," Bann Teagan said, a little distantly; Eruestan noticed that the bann's eyes seemed to linger on his ears. "Some are old – flesh rotting, limbs falling off. Others…others are…"

"They're us," Murdock finished. "They drag us away, kill us, and turn us inta 'em."

Eruestan looked over at Morrigan; she was frowning, evidently not pleased with what she was hearing. "Describe these corpses. How do they move, what are they doing?"

"They're bloody killin us is what they're doin!" Murdock snapped. "Fast as sin, they are, and strong, too."

"Not very intelligent, though," Teagan said quickly. "They can't operate weapons, and most of them just try to bite, like animals. Fortunately it's easy enough to fend off a mouth attack; the trouble is that they're extremely difficult to kill. They can't feel pain, and most wounds to their body seem ineffective. The head needs to be destroyed to kill them – when they team up together, they take down most of our men before anyone can manage to get a good hit."

Eruestan let out a deep breath. This was not good. "I think I know what's going on," he said.

"That's nice," Teagan said, looking at Rowena and Alistair, "but I just don't know how we're going to—"

"Er, we should listen to Eruestan," Rowena interrupted, eyebrows slightly furrowed. She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the bann's line of sight. "He's a Grey Warden too, a very gifted mage, and he's read more than almost anyone I know."

The bann looked amused. "All right, I'll play along. What do you think it is?"

Eruestan was taken aback; the bann was clearly patronizing him. "Demons," he replied, a bit shorter than usual. "Hunger demons."

There was a brief pause. "Bloody brilliant," Murdock growled. "A Blight and a demon invasion – must be our lucky day."

Teagan raised an eyebrow. "How can you tell they're demons?"

"Hunger demons," Morrigan corrected, eyes glinting. "And seeing as you clearly do not value the opinion of an elf, allow me to confirm it. What Eruestan says is true, though it may shock you to believe it."

Teagan looked like someone had slapped him in the face. "I…Ser Warden, let me apologize. I've been horribly rude…the stress of the past few days…please, forgive me."

"It's all right," he said, face expressionless. "Regardless, I'm almost positive that you're dealing with hunger demons. They're the only demons stupid enough to possess deceased bodies – they mistake them for the living and use them to leave the Fade. That's why your dead are fighting against you – the demons are possessing the corpses of everyone who falls in combat and using them to keep attacking. It also explains why so many of them are trying to bite people. Hunger demons want to devour everything in sight – carrying back the dead only means that they can bring more demons into the world."

"But this is all impossible," the bann said. "Demons can't just pass through the Veil, it's why we _have_ a Veil!"

"They can if a mage summons them," Eruestan said. "Something's happening in that castle, something dark and dangerous."

"Agreed," Morrigan said. "My mother spent most of her time summoning such demons, I have a close familiarity with their habits."

Teagan stared at her. "That was an extremely disconcerting sentence…but never mind that. What in Andraste's name are we supposed to do now?"

"Die, it appears," Sten said.

"Not necessarily," Eruestan said. "It's actually a good thing they're dead – they'd be much stronger if it were living bodies they'd possessed. The only problem is like you said, you have to attack the head to really kill them. The head's the center of possession for deceased beings – if you can destroy it, you can kill the demon. We can still win this fight."

"Easier said than done," Bann Teagan replied. "We only have a few hours until the next raid, and the village is in no shape to put up a fight."

"We can help!" Alistair said. "All of us are strong fighters – if we create a barricade here, we can hold them for the night."

Teagan smiled ruefully. "While I appreciate the offer, I doubt it will make much difference. Many of our men are hiding or attempting to flee, and those who do want to fight don't have suitable weapons. Owen, the village blacksmith, has locked himself in his shop and is refusing to lend his supplies to our cause. Granted, there's not much of a store left, but we're in desperate need of repairs and the little he does have would be a huge help."

"We'll start there, then," Alistair said. "We'll be back soon – Maker be with you."

The bann bowed and turned back to his men; the group began making their way over to a building with a large forge out front. "I cannot see why we have decided to fight in this useless crusade," Morrigan said, frowning at the villagers staring listlessly at the side. "Should we not be concentrating our efforts on defeating this Blight?"

"What do you think we're doing?" Alistair snapped. "These people are in grave danger – if we don't help them, they'll all die. Besides, we need Arl Eamon's support to fight the darkspawn – without him, we're finished!"

"Then we are finished already!" Morrigan shot back. "That buffoon Bann Teagan is completely deluded! We all heard the mayor – the chances that this Arl Eamon is still alive after spending three days in a demon-infested castle are miniscule. Fighting here is a waste of our time and resources; we had much better cut our losses and move on."

"You cold, heartless, _evil_ little—"

"Oh, enough, you two!" Leliana sighed. "Just think of all the suffering that's been happening here. May these people turn to our Lady Savior in the days to come."

There was a loud crash as an empty rum bottle came flying out the smithy's window, landing in the front yard three feet in front of them. "Well, they've certainly turned to something," Morrigan remarked.

Eruestan shot her a look and stepped forward. "Hello?" he called, knocking on the door. "Is anyone there?"

There was a rustling from inside, followed by a long, low moan.

"Er…hello?"

"Go away," someone's muffled voice echoed from inside. "We're closed."

"Owen?" he said. "Is that you?"

There was a short pause. "Who are ye?" the voice said. "Ow'd ye know me name?"

"A friend of yours gave it to me," Eruestan said. "Could you please open the door? It'd be easier to talk to you if I could see you face to face."

There was some low grumbling from the other side; then, the door swung open, revealing an older man with a massive beard leaning heavily against a wall. "Whaddya want," he hiccupped, "and who's this fffriend of mine?"

Eruestan opened his mouth to reply and instantly choked on the wave of alcohol that met him. "Maker's breath! What have you been drinking?"

"Nothin' ye could handle," Owen slurred. "Now who are ye?"

The elf coughed. "My name's Eruestan. We're Grey Wardens - Bann Teagan sent me to—"

Owen laughed humorlessly and picked up a bottle of rum on the table. "Wardens, huh? Whaddya workin fer Bann fucking Teagan fer?" Owen took a long swig and walked over to a broken armchair by the fireplace. "The bann's no ffffriend of mine, stranger."

"Why's that?" Eruestan said cautiously, following him into the house.

Owen looked up at him, and out of nowhere burst into violent tears.

"There it is," Sten sighed, crossing his arms.

"Oh, er, sorry! Didn't mean to, um, pry or anything!" Eruestan said, alarmed. "Everything's all right!"

"I'm sorry," the man wept, burying his face in his hands. "It's just she's all I got left in this world…I can't…"

Leliana gasped softly and stepped forward. "Who?" she asked, kneeling down. "Who are you talking about?"

He took a deep breath and calmed himself. "Me daughter Valena," he said thickly, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "She's a maid up at the castle and I haven't been able to hear from her since them bloody beasts started attackin. I tried to get the bann to charge the castle and find her, but they won't fuckin listen. So fuck em! Fuck all of em!" He took another swig from the rum and then chucked the bottle against the wall in rage.

"That's a healthy attitude," Rowena muttered.

Owen shot her a nasty look. "Ye can shut up, Fire Crotch. Ye don't understand what I'm goin through."

"Actually, I do," Rowena said, eyes flashing. "I know exactly what it feels like to lose your loved ones. Did I sit back and say 'fuck em all?' No. I'm fighting to save as many people as I can, and if you had half a pair of balls you would, too."

He glared at her for a moment, then looked down to the floor in shame. "All right, fine. But if ye want my forge, ye promise me that ye'll bring me Valena back."

Eruestan frowned. "Well, I mean, we can do our best, but—"

"NO!" Owen leapt to his feet, startling everyone in the smithy. "That's what Murdock and the bann said, and look where it got me! Ye want me wares, ye bring me baby back!"

"For a old drunkard, you make an alarming amount of demands, human," Sten said harshly.

Owen's resolve broke. "P-please…promise me ye'll bring her back. She's…she's all I've got left…"

Eruestan looked into his face and took a deep breath. "I promise," he said, trembling slightly. "I promise you we'll find her."

Owen stared at him for an instant, then began nodding slowly. "Ye know, I almost believe ye; if anyone's going to do this, it'll be the Grey Wardens." Wiping his face with his hands, he climbed out of his chair and walked over to a bucket in the corner. "If ye'll excuse me, I need to get sobered up if I'm gonna be workin for the rest of the day. Speakin of which, ye need anythin? I got no more armor left, but weapons, maybe?"

"Well, actually, yes," Rowena said. "Our friend here has nothing but his hands."

Owen stared at Sten for a moment and then jumped suddenly. "Andraste's tits, he's been here the whole time? What is that? My stuff'd look like a bloody toy on him!"

Sten muttered a few swear words under his breath; Rowena coughed to cover them up. "Maybe a long-sword, then? A _very_ long long-sword?"

Owen frowned and pulled a blade off the wall. "Try this…Maker, he makes it look like a butterknife…"

Sten took the sword and weighed it disdainfully. "Poor balance…flaws along the edge…His workmanship leaves much to be desired."

"What's that?" Owen said.

"I did not address you, human," Sten snapped.

"Ok, well, this was fun!" Eruestan said quickly, ushering the party outside. "Thank you so much! Everyone will appreciate it!" Owen grumbled something and began dunking his head in the water bucket.

Outside, a small group of villagers was fortifying the barricades, throwing furniture and wood onto the piles. "Back so soon?" Bann Teagan said in surprise. "What's the verdict?"

"He'll help us," Eruestan said. "Although I'd recommend giving him at least an hour before he starts working with red hot metals. Is there anything else we can do?"

"Other than storm the castle and cure my brother?" Teagan asked, smiling wearily. "Actually, I do have a few tasks for you to accomplish, although the sun will be setting soon. We've got a lot of wounded men in the chantry from last night's fighting; I was hoping that you mages could try and heal some of them."

"I can try," Eruestan said. "Though anything too serious will probably be beyond my skills."

"That's fine – as many people you can get, the better." He pulled out a small pouch from his cloak. "Otherwise, Mother Hannah has blessed these amulets for our knights. They're currently observing the castle from the mill on the cliffs. It'd be a great boost to morale if you could go out and give these to them."

"Easy enough," Rowena said, taking the pouch from him. "How many knights are there?"

"Only seven, unfortunately," Teagan said. "The rest were sent out by the Arlessa to look for the Urn of Sacred Ashes."

Eruestan frowned, remembering what the knight had said to them in Lothering. "We've heard about this quest for the ashes – how many men have been sent out?"

"30," the bann said. "According to Murdock, Isolde was convinced that the only way to cure my brother was to use the Sacred Ashes of our Lady Savior, so she sent out all of Redcliffe's knights to every corner of Fereldan. Thank the Maker some of them decided to return after they heard of the defeat at Ostagar. Without them, we would have been crushed from the very beginning."

"Did they ever get any leads on the Urn's location?" Rowena asked.

He shrugged. "We can find that out later – for now, let's focus on ending these attacks." There was loud yelling from inside the chantry; the bann paused a little awkwardly. "I do have one more request, though it is a bit…delicate. Some of the fighters have started taking to drinking; once the village tavern was destroyed, they moved on to the chantry cellars. Normally I wouldn't mind, but seeing as they've been getting more and more hostile and are now even refusing to fight…"

"You want us to get them to stop," Leliana finished. "No problem. Getting drunk men to do things they don't want to is one of my specialties."

"What the _hell_ were you before you joined the Chantry?" Alistair asked in wonder.

"_You_ were a Chantry sister?" The bann shook his head. "Actually, no, I'd rather not ask. It wouldn't matter if you were the Divine herself if you could get those idiots fighting again." Someone called his name from the other side of the square. "Excuse me, I have to leave – I have a meeting with the village council. Maker be with you all!"

"So it looks like it's me, Morrigan, and Leliana who are going into the Chantry," Eruestan said. "Who wants to take charge of these amulets?"

"I don't mind," Rowena said, stepping in. Eruestan could tell from the look in her eyes that she was highly interested in meeting the knights of Redcliffe. "Anyone want to come with me?"

"I will!" Alistair said. "I might even know a few of them—some might have even worked in the stables with me."

"I will defend you with my life, Your Majesty," Rowena said gravely, bowing before him.

"I hate you," he said, scowling.

"What about you, Sten?" Eruestan asked, grinning. "Are you going to join them as well?"

"Actually, I'd rather he come with me," Leliana said. "Normally I can handle a group of drunk men on my own, but if I'm with a Qunari they'll be that much less inclined to be rowdy. Besides, you really don't need three people to hand out amulets."

"I don't know why we're even bothering," Sten said, crossing his arms. "Any man who thinks that a hunk of metal will protect him from the undead deserves to be struck down."

"I mean, they are _blessed _hunks of metal, Sten," Leliana replied, frowning. "The Maker's protection is stronger than any enemy."

"The knights may find the opposite to be true on the battlefield."

"Regardless of whether or not it's actually blessed," Eruestan said, trying to be fair, "if the knights believe it is, they'll fight better. It's like the bann said, it'll improve morale, right?'

Neither Sten nor Leliana looked pleased. "Whatever," Leliana sniffed, shooting dark looks at both Sten and Eruestan. "We should head into the chantry; the sooner we can help, the better. Though Morrigan, I was wondering, maybe you could help me instead? The more women the more enticed they'll be."

The witch looked like she'd been slapped. "I am not a piece of meat to be pranced in front of a crowd of drunkards, Leliana. If you wanted a whore, you should have recruited a slattern in Lothering!"

"Oh, but I am not asking you to be a whore," Leliana replied impatiently. "You are not going to be paid for anything!"

"Er, you know, she's really more a use to us with her magic, isn't she?" Rowena said, looking at Morrigan's darkening complexion. "We should probably just have her heal the men, for the safety of everyone involved."

Leliana frowned. "Well, it really would work better if there were two women…although, having her by the door might persuade them to head back out…yes, yes, this might work."

"Hey, so long as it's not me—I mean, yes, yes, it will probably work," Eruestan said, stopped by a glare from Rowena. "Shall we?"

"Yes, let's," Leliana said. "If we late too long, we will have to carry them back out ourselves."

"Well, good luck! Have fun!" Rowena called cheerfully; she, Alistair, and Cormac began walking up the hill leading to the windmill as they entered the chantry doors.

"Oh, this is going to be exciting!" Leliana chirped, her bad mood forgotten. "This reminds me of a game we used to play as children!"

"The Orlesians send their children to seduce men in chantries for fun?" Eruestan asked.

She shrugged. "We like to keep things fresh in Orlais."

"Well, so long as someone thinks this is amusing…"

"You only say that because you do not know the rules!" She stopped to tousle her hair and adjust her armor. "All right, so there are my targets – what do you all think?"

Eruestan glanced at the back half of the chantry, which had been taken over by rowdy, drunken villagers. Most were slurring drinking songs around a large keg in the back corner; others were rolling around on the floor, while one particularly far gone individual appeared to be fondling a statue of Andraste. "They definitely seem to be enjoying themselves…"

"Perfect," Leliana said. "All right, Sten, let's go. Wish us luck!"

Eruestan flashed her a thumbs up as she moved towards the back, Sten grimacing behind her. "Hello, boys!" she said cheerfully, waving. "Did you start the party without me?"

There was a moment of confused silence; then the revelers roared their approval and opened up to swallow her.

"Ugh, 'tis repulsive," Morrigan said angrily. "They are like animals at a watering hole."

"You shouldn't insult animals like that," Eruestan said. "Luckily, I think Leliana can handle herself." She'd somehow already managed to climb on top of the keg, much to the crowd's joy. "Now we should start taking a look at some of these villagers – and Morrigan? Please try to be nice, ok?" The witch scowled and moved to the other aisle. Grinning, he bent down over the first villager and began examining her wounds.

The next two hours went by in a blur. Careful not to drain his energy, Eruestan focused on trying to heal only the major wounds, using basic first aid on anything less serious. Still, by the time he reached a sullen elf with a gaping wound in his side, his head and back ached as though he'd been casting the most difficult of spells. "Let me take a look at that," he said, trying to ignore his shaking hands. "Take off your cloak."

"I'm fine," the elf said, teeth gritted. "Don't touch me."

Normally, Eruestan would have acquiesced; however, given how his head was pounding, he decided to press further. "Don't be silly, you're obviously in pain. Here, let me…"

"Hey!" The man flinched back as Eruestan began to pull at the cloak. In doing so, a scrap of paper was dislodged and fell to the ground. On reflex, Eruestan picked it up. "You…" he said, starting to hand it back; however, his eyes, well-trained to read in poor lighting by years spent at the Tower, had already seen what was written on it.

_Berwick_

_Your mission in Redcliffe is absolutely crucial. Be our eyes and ears – report everything that happens in the castle to us immediately. We're counting on you._

Eruestan's blood had run cold. He quickly crumpled the note into his fist and glanced back at Berwick. Wincing in pain, the spy hadn't noticed that the note had fallen. Eruestan stared at him for a moment, the full impact of what it meant sinking in. Whoever had written this note clearly expected something to happen in Redcliffe; it didn't take a brilliant mind to figure out what that meant. Someone had planned for all this to happen, and Berwick had some idea who.

Now it was up to him to figure it all out.

* * *

Meanwhile, Rowena was thoroughly enjoying her position as royal bodyguard. "Careful, Your Majesty, the path gets very steep up here," she called back, Cormac panting at her side. "Pace yourself accordingly!"

"You know," Alistair said, scowling back at her, "if anyone here has been pampered in the past, it's you, Rowena 'Born-and-Raised-in-a-Castle' Cousland."

"That's Lady Rowena 'Born-and-Raised-in-a-Castle' Cousland to you, thank you very much," Rowena said. "And my apologies, Your Majesty, I'll keep that in mind for the future."

"Wonderful," he replied. He stopped and stared up at the castle. "Maker, I hope he's all right."

Rowena's smile faded as she saw the look on his face. "I'm sure he's fine," she said gently. "Arl Eamon's a strong man, if anyone can survive an attack of the undead, it's him."

He grimaced. "Maker, it's like living in a nightmare, isn't it?" He then sighed and looked back up to the castle. "You know, it's really strange being back here. Once you get away from the smoke and dying, everything's just like it used to be…"

"You said you were last here when you were ten?" Rowena asked.

He nodded. "Up till then I worked in the stables at the castle. Arl Eamon was very good to me – he took me under his wing when no one else would; he was basically a father to me. I didn't know it then, but some of the happiest years of my life were spent in Redcliffe."

"Until the arlessa kicked you out."

He shrugged. "I don't blame her, really. To be honest, for someone in her position, she was pretty gracious to me all throughout my life. It wasn't until Connor was born that I had to leave, and looking back I feel like most people would have done the same."

Rowena tried to imagine being sent away from Highever at the age of ten, leaving everything she had ever known, everyone she had ever loved. The image of her parents kneeling on the kitchen floor flashed in front of her eyes. She reached forward and put a hand on his shoulder. "That still had to be hard, though," she said.

Alistair smiled at her. "Don't worry, I overreacted properly. I wouldn't touch any of my food for days after they told me – when Arl Eamon finally came to talk to me, I didn't even look at him." He furrowed his eyebrows. "You know, it's funny that we're delivering these amulets – Arl Eamon once gave me one just like these, only made out of clay; cheap, you know? He said it belonged to my mother; it was all I had of hers, I didn't even know her name…I used to wear it everywhere. That night when Arl Eamon was talking to me…he kept going on about duty and being kind to the arlessa…I was so mad I ripped off the amulet and threw it to the ground, told him that was how I felt about his kindness. It must have shattered into about a thousand different pieces—stupidest thing I've ever done. I've never forgiven myself for it." He shook his head. "Huh. I don't think I've ever told anyone that before."

Deeply moved, Rowena opened her mouth to say something; however, she was cut off by a shout from up above. "OI! Who's down there?"

"Er—delivery from Bann Teagan!" she called up, quickly stepping away from Alistair. "Amulets for the knights of Redcliffe!"

A handsome knight appeared from around a corner. "That's a relief – I was sure you were going to be corpses."

Alistair squinted. "Roland?"

The knight broke out into a huge grin. "Alistair! Is that you?" He turned around. "Men! Look who's come back to Redcliffe!" About six other knights followed him, all letting out a loud cheer when they saw Alistair. "Maker's breath, what are you doing here? I thought all the Grey Wardens got slaughtered down at Ostagar!"

"Just about," Alistair said. "There's only three of us left."

Ser Roland caught sight of Rowena. "And would this lovely creature happen to be one of your fellows? Or is this your latest conquest?"

Rowena rolled her eyes; however, she realized that something about that implication pleased her. Alistair, on the other hand, became extremely flustered.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no, not at all," he said hastily. "In fact, if anyone's doing the conquesting, it's her – er, not romantically, of course!" (she had raised an eyebrow) "But what I mean is that she's a good fighter! Like a really good warrior – ages better than me, seriously; not to say I'm a particularly good warrior or anything, it's just…that she's…really…good…" Apparently out of steam, his voice fizzled out as he blushed furiously.

Ser Roland looked far too pleased with the situation. "And would this beautiful, 'really good warrior' happen to have a name?"

She met his eye. "Lady Rowena of House Cousland, Grey Warden. Pleased to meet you."

The knights all instantly fell to their knees. "My lady," Ser Roland said, his smug look now one of chagrin, "forgive me my rudeness, I meant no disrespect."

Rowena wondered if she'd have been given such an apology had she been a blacksmith's daughter. "None taken. Now here, take these." She pulled out the pouch from her cloak. "The revered mother blessed these amulets for you; they'll bring protection in the fight to come."

"Oh," one of the knights said in disappointment. "Steel? I was hoping they'd be silver."

"Silas, shut up," Roland said sharply. "Thank you, my lady. Is there anything else you need?"

She hesitated. "If you don't mind, could you give us an assessment of what's happening at the castle? We've gotten some information, but the more we know the more we can use against them."

"So you're fighting, then?" the knight said, rising to his feet. "That's a relief – I doubt you remember this, but you flouted me thoroughly at the King's Tournament last year."

Rowena gave him a half-smile. "I flouted a lot of people at that tourney…"

"I don't doubt it," Ser Roland said. "You were a terror in that wolf's helmet. I'm just glad you're on our side this time."

"I think this'll be a much different kind of fight," she said, smirking. "Now, if we could see the castle…?"

"Of course; follow me." The knight led them around a corner to the base of a giant windmill; Redcliffe Castle loomed far in the distance overhead. "There it is. This is the closest the bastards will let us get to the castle without drawing us into an attack; we've been camped up here since the first night. Most of them head inside during the day; there are only a few on the ramparts. Here, take a look." He handed a brass spyglass to Rowena; she was barely able to make out a few shifting figures listing along the rampart walls. Something about the way they ambled struck her as extremely unnatural; she shivered in spite of herself. "What have you learned from fighting them? Any weaknesses?"

"Well, for one, they're very strong. Fast, too. Not too clever, though; can't even carry a sword. Otherwise, they don't seem to like fire. It won't chase them away, but it will make them hesitate for a moment. It doesn't hurt them, though; they can fight so long as their bodies haven't burned to ash. In order to kill them, a quick blow to the head seems to be the only thing that works."

"Just like Eruestan said," Rowena murmured to Alistair. "Anything else we should watch out for?"

He shrugged. "Try not to get bitten?"

Suddenly the bells down at the village began ringing; Ser Roland sat up sharply. "Something's going on down there," he said, looking down on the houses below; they seemed oddly peaceful in the setting sun. "And in any case, the sun will set soon – we should head back."

The way down to the village went much faster, Rowena and Cormac leading the way. By the time they'd returned, a crowd had formed in front of the chantry. Frowning, Rowena and Alistair began weaving their way to the front, Cormac growling at those who refused to step back.

To their surprise, Eruestan, Morrigan, Leliana, and Sten, where standing around a pale, shifty looking elf who was sprawled on the ground. Murdock and Bann Teagan were standing to one side, arms crossed tightly.

"Don't play coy with us!" Leliana was yelling, pointing to a piece of paper. "We have all the proof we need!"

"I'm telling you, I don't know how that got there!" the elf said. "Let me go!"

"Whoa, hold on!" Rowena said, walking up to them. "What's going on?"

"Rowena, Berwick," Eruestan said. "Berwick, Rowena. Berwick's been spying on Redcliffe, and we want to know for whom."

"I haven't, ok?" the elf said hotly. "I'm here for my...my brother! We've got business in Redcliffe!"

"This would be a lot easier if you would stop lying to us, Berwick," Eruestan said angrily. "Look, I found this on him – pretty much proves what he's been doing."

Rowena glanced at it, then frowned. She recognized the handwriting. "Who wrote this?" she asked, voice oddly calm.

"I keep telling you, I don't—"

"Cormac," she said sharply, still looking at the letter.

The hound barked viciously and lunged at the elf, who threw up his hands in panic. "All right! All right, fine! Call him off!" She snapped her fingers; Cormac drew back, still snarling. "Th-thank you," the elf said, shaking. "This is getting way too dangerous for me, anyways." He pulled out a second letter from his pocket. "Look, I'm being paid to observe the castle, that's it, I swear. They never told me what I was supposed to look for; I thought they meant when the arl got sick, but now with all these undead…things…I promise, I had no idea they were coming, please believe me!"

Rowena lost her patience. "_Who's paying you?_"

"Arl Howe," Berwick said quickly. "Teyrn Loghain's right hand man. He never signed anything for me, otherwise I'd give it to you."

All she could see was white; she had been right. She could feel her hand draw back to strike him; before she could, Eruestan grabbed it. "Calm down," he said quietly. "We still need him." She let out a deep breath and lowered her hand.

"This is unbelievable," Teagan said, breaking the silence. "What does Rendon Howe care about Redcliffe? We're a week's ride to Amaranthine, we have nothing to do with him."

"Something tells me Loghain's hand is in here somewhere," Alistair said. "I think he'd like to have Arl Eamon out of the way if he's going after the throne."

"Save yer politics talk for later," Murdock spat. "The sun's settin and we've still got this idiot to deal with."

"Look, I never meant to hurt anybody," Berwick pleaded. "I saw a chance to make some money and I took it. I didn't know I would be spying on anybody, honest! Please, don't hurt me!"

"You're in luck, elf," the bann said, crossing his rooms. "Ser Eruestan, dress his wounds; he'll be joining us in the fight tonight."

Berwick's face had gone pale; Eruestan bent down and began tending to his injuries. Rowena shot the spy a death glare, then turned back to Teagan and Murdock. "Is the village ready?" she asked, putting a hand on her sword. The sun was beginning to dip below the roofline; soon, the area would be plunged into night.

"For the most part. Owen's sent his supplies out to the men, so at least everyone's armed." He gestured to a massive pile of wood in the center of the village square. "We're going to light the bonfire soon – we've found we can stall the beasts with flame."

"Is there a strategy yet?" Alistair asked.

He nodded. "The knights and ground fighters are going to form two ranks around the bonfire; if we can draw them into the square and entrap them, they'll be easier to combat. The able women and children will be up on the roofs with the archers; we've sent up as many large rocks as we could find, so they should be able to help. Everyone else will be sealed inside the chantry with the sisters."

Murdock snorted. "Sealin 'em in a tomb's more like it," he growled, spitting. "Yer a damned bunch a fools fer lettin him keep goin with this madness."

"What, are we just supposed to let the arl and his family die up there?" Alistair asked.

"And are we supposed ter let the people of this village die fer im?" Murdock shot back. "The Arl's _dead_, lad. No one could ave survived somethin like this!"

"That's enough," Rowena said sharply, preventing Alistair from yelling back at the mayor. "It's too late to argue about whether or not we should fight. Let's just try to get out of here alive."

"Well spoken, my lady," Teagan said, "Are the men ready, Murdock?"

"As ready as they'll be, milord," Murdock grumbled. "You'd best look at em now, before they're all corpses clawin fer yer neck."

"That's the spirit," the bann sighed. "Lady Rowena, Alistair, are your people ready?"

"Er…yes, I think so?" Alistair said. "They will be once the fighting starts, at least."

The bann squinted up at the castle. "That may be sooner than you think," he said grimly. He turned back to the chantry. "Men! Seal the doors! Sound the alarm! They're coming!"

* * *

_Sorry this is a bit late - school's been really rough lately! Thank you for all the lovely reviews (especially the fantastic mille libri!)!_


	17. The Battle for Redcliffe

The village was still. Behind them, the chantry doors groaned shut, pulled closed by the sisters. Heart pounding, Eruestan glanced at the villagers gathered around him – all eyes were on the castle, looks of quiet despair etched on most of their faces.

He, too, started looking off at the distant castle. A cloud of dust had shot out rapidly from the doors; a thrill of horror went down his spine.

"They're going too fast," Rowena murmured, eyes narrowed as she drew her sword. "It took us an hour just to reach the windmill…Maker's breath…"

The cloud of dust had spread horrifically fast, already halfway between the castle and Redcliffe. The villagers did not look surprised; the feeling of dread, however, was suffocating.

The cloud had reached the foothills just above the village. "This isn't good," Alistair squeaked in horror; Eruestan tried to agree, his voice stuck in his throat.

"Men!" Bann Teagan barked, walking away from the chantry; the group followed suit. He grabbed a torch from a soldier and approached the wood pit. "Hold your ground beside the fire! Any man who breaks the line will have me and the Wardens to answer to!" The edge of town had disappeared under the dust; they would be upon the village in mere minutes, seconds, even. Teagan waved his torch, then threw it on the wood pile, sending a tower of flames flying into the night. "Anyone of them falls, you throw it in the fire – send these bastards back to the void where they came from!" The dust being kicked up had blocked out the sight of the other half of the village. "And men—" (the had engulfed the buildings on the other side of the square) "we fight for Redcliffe!"

The men tried to give a weak battle cry; however, before they could fully get it out, the dust cloud covered them, blocking out all light.

Eruestan coughed violently, dust filling his eyes and his mouth. Horrific screams and battle cries rang out in the night; falling to his knees, he squinted, trying to make out movements in the obscurity. All he could make out were a series of blobs and moving forms, writhing in the dust. Something was howling in the night – it didn't sound like Cormac, Eruestan had no idea what it was. Still wheezing, he tried to think of a spell that would clear the dust…and then a great force smashed into him, blasting him back several feet.

Wind knocked out of his lungs, he barely had time to lift his head before sharp teeth gored out a chunk of flesh on his shoulder. Screaming, he tried to struggle – strong, boney hands pinned down his arms with terrible strength as another horrible burst of pain erupted on his shoulder. Flecks of blood were splashing on his face – the elf suddenly realized that he was being eaten alive.

A burst of flame erupted in front of him – Eruestan must have cast it, though he couldn't remember doing so. His attacker gave a high-pitched shriek and backed off a few steps. Eruestan gasped with pain and tried to roll to one side; the flame died, and whatever was after him lunged again. Acting on pure adrenaline and instinct, Eruestan shot out an ice spike with his good arm, stopping the beast in its tracks.

Blood was pounding in his head. Mechanically, he put his good hand on his wound, casting a slight spell that would stop most of the bleeding. The dust had began to clear; as if in a trance, he looked over the corpse that had been attacking him, an icicle now jutting out of its skull. Five seconds later, he vomited, horror taking over for a second.

Plenty of people (far more people than he had been mentally prepared for, to be honest) had died in front of him within the past few weeks. He had seen blood magic and the most twisted of darkspawn. None of those had prepared him for that night. The creature twitching in front of him was the most corrupt of nightmares, a cruel distortion of humanity. Its eyes had long rotted away, and its skin was taut and decayed, revealing in parts the disintegrating muscles and tendons beneath. Only the few wisps of hair on its skull and its set of rotting teeth, now covered in blood and gristle, hinted at the person it had been in life.

Slowly, he lifted his head and looked around, watching the rest of the village struggle with their attackers. Not all the corpses were as old as his; the fresher ones, however, were even more horrific. Their flesh, punctuated by hideous bite marks like the one on his shoulder, had already begun to blacken; many had half-eaten faces and limbs, suggesting the horrors the people had gone through in their last minutes alive. Time had slowed down; he was going to vomit again, he was sure of it.

Suddenly a throwing knife whizzed past his face, plunging into the eye of a corpse that had been approaching from his right. Leliana vaulted through the air in front of him, landing behind a second corpse and, fast as sin, tossing it into the flames. Eruestan snapped out of his trance; the roars and screams came crashing back into his ears. Instantly he began to evaluate his position. He had been pushed back towards the chantry, halfway between the doors and the bonfire in the middle of the square. Leliana had already perched herself above the chantry entrance and was firing arrows into the night, landing a corpse with each shot. In front of him by the fire, Sten was swinging his longsword in a circle of death, keeping the corpses who had broken through the lines at bay. Eruestan was captivated for a moment; for a man of his size, Sten moved with shocking grace and speed.

Realizing that he was in relative safety, Eruestan's eyes flitted across the rest of the field, trying to ignore the stabbing pains in his half-healed shoulder. The glare of the bonfire made it difficult to see what was happening beyond; swords flashed in the night as shrieks and groans filled the air. The more he watched the corpses, the more horrified he became. Their movements were clumsy and unnatural; their decayed flesh made them jerk and twitch as if in some sort of mad dance. For the tired, un-experienced villagers, they were overwhelming – they struck with such speed and strength that everywhere he looked, villagers were collapsing under the pressure.

The same was not the case for the men on the front lines. Rowena, Alistair, and the knights of Redcliffe had trained for years in combat, and the results showed. Even the more-experienced villagers were able to hold their own, adapting to the speed of the creatures and fighting two-by-two to watch each other's backs. The fighters on the roofs sent a consistent flow of arrows and rocks down into the crowd, incapacitating several corpses with each hit. As Eruestan watched, Rowena's sword flashed in the night, neatly decapitating the body in front of her.

Suddenly something tugged at his sleeve; yelping, he looked over to see a man clutching his side staring at him grimly.

"Don't piss yerself, I need healin," he spat. "Heard you's the one to do it."

"Er—yeah, yeah I am," Eruestan said, holding out his good hand. The man took a look at his shoulder and went silent; Eruestan imagined it was hard to have confidence in a healer who was injured himself. "Now relax, this'll just take a minute…"

As blue light began to glow around the man's wound, there was a loud screech and a burst of movement from in front of them; Eruestan looked up to see that the corpses were now in a frenzy, clawing to get through the line of fighters; there was a sudden burst and roughly eight broke through, running straight for him.

"Shite shite shite shite shite!" Abruptly ending the healing spell, Eruestan waved his hand in a panic, sending an ice spike flying upwards into the sky. Adrenaline pounding, he tried to concentrate, sending out another spike; this one landed in one of the corpses' legs, knocking it back a few feet. However, it quickly regained its footing and began to run at him all the faster. The wounded man tried to step in front of him; the corpses knocked him aside like a rag doll. Frozen in panic, Eruestan tried to summon the energy to fight off the ghoul in front of him when suddenly a giant shadow stepped in front of him and sliced the creature's head off. Blinking, Eruestan looked up to see Sten standing in front of him, carefully drawing his sword back. Two corpses tried to lunge around him; the Qunari cut both of them down in one fluid movement, slicing his sword through the air with frightening precision. Another approached him warily – Sten jabbed his blade through its stomach, then cut through its head. As the other three advanced, Sten swung his sword around like a dancer, lopping off all three of their heads.

Eruestan could hardly believe what he had seen. "Sten—that was—I can't—you just—"

"Learn to fight," he said, staring down at him.

Eruestan paused. "Er…pardon?"

"You're a Grey Warden," the Qunari replied. "You have a powerful gift. Use it. Learn to fight." With that he ran ahead to join the battle.

Before he could reflect too much on what Sten had said, a scream to his left drew him out of his reveries. Looking over, he saw that the injured soldier was being attacked by another corpse that had gotten loose of the front lines, its teeth buried in his arm. Eruestan quickly threw out his hands; the corpse was thrown off the soldier and sent flying into the bonfire, instantly bursting into flames.

"I know how to bloody fight," he muttered, running up to the soldier. The man looked up at him in a dull state of horror.

"T-that was Krister," he stammered, "Maker's breath, that was me own brother…"

The horror in that sentence was too awful to process. "It's…here, let me try to help," he said, struggling to keep his voice calm. Too appalled to notice, the soldier stared off listlessly into the distance, not even glancing at the blue light sealing his wounds.

As Eruestan finished, he heard something else racing toward him. Ready to attack another corpse, he was about to shoot out another ice spike when he saw Rowena standing in front of him, panting.

"I've got a scratch on my leg," she said, jabbing at her thigh. "Bann Teagan's making me get it taken care of, but hurry! We need as many people out there as possible –_oy_! That includes you, Dreamy McFuckface!" She grabbed the soldier's arm and dragged him to his feet.

"Ah, Rowena?" Eruestan said, frowning. "He's just suffered a very big shock, maybe you should let him—"

She stared back at him as though dwarves had starting doing backflips out his ears. "Eruestan. Is there or is there not a giant corpse army waiting to kill us all about 50 paces back from me?"

He glanced over her shoulder. "There is."

"So, in the grand scheme of things, is _shock treatment_ really a major concern of ours right now?"

He sighed. "Probably not."

"Glad you agree!" She pushed the man back towards the front line and turned to Eruestan. "Now heal, please!"

"So it's going poorly, then?" he asked, pushing aside her tunic and starting his spell. "Oh, Maker, Rowena, this isn't a scratch! How'd you even walk over here?"

"It's _fine_, Eruestan – and we're all right, there are just _so many_ of them…" She bit her lip. "Can this go any faster?"

"Depends, would you or would you not like to pass out from blood loss?"

"Got it." She sighed and looked back onto the battle, eyes flying. "I don't see Morrigan – you don't think she's in trouble, do you—"

Before she could finish that thought, a giant howl ripped through the night; expecting to see Cormac, the two looked up to see a white wolf moving through the corpses' ranks, crippling them and, when possible, biting with enough force to break through their skulls. Stunned, they watched as the wolf took down several different corpses, moving with such speed and intelligence that nothing could touch it. Bounding past, it suddenly stopped and turned to look back at them. Even at that distance, he could see that its eyes were exactly the same shape and color as Morrigan's.

Rowena whistled. "You know, we are traveling with some pretty frightening people."

"Yeah, thank the Maker," he replied. "And I think your leg's ready."

"Brilliant!" She spun around and raced back to the battle, sword and shield raised. "Thank you!"

The battle dragged on from there, with waves and waves of corpses crashing against the fighters. The knights, along with Sten, Alistair, and Rowena, were largely able to hold the line; however, as the night went on, more and more corpses broke through. The fighters began to draw closer and closer together, desperate to keep the line as strong as possible. While Eruestan was able to heal a large number of the wounded, he soon found himself with less and less energy.

"I've got another one," Alistair shouted over the battle cries, supporting a woman bearing a nasty bitemark on her neck.

Eruestan nodded, focusing on the wound he was already treating. "Maker's breath, they never let up, do they?"

"Yeah, well, they've been lying around for centuries, have a lot of built-up energy!" He shifted his weight. "Are you all right, though? How's your shoulder?"

"I'll live!" Eruestan shouted back, trying to ignore the ache growing between his eyes. "Only a flesh wound!"

"That's the spirit!" Alistair set the woman down as Eruestan began examining the bite. "Don't worry, though, the battle's quieting down, we should be done soo—"

Before he could finish, there was a huge explosion from behind them; the two whipped their heads around to see one of the houses near the edge of the square burst into pieces, scattering the fighting and felling several villagers and corpses alike. As the dust of the explosion cleared, they saw a large corpse dressed in armor floating where the house had been, staring at the battle.

"Ok, I really need to stop saying things like that," Alistair said, eyes wide. "_What is that_?"

Eruestan felt sick. "That's a revenant."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"That we're fuc—" He, too, was cut off by a blast from the creature that sent three villagers flying across the square, crashing into the chantry and breaking their necks. Eruestan rose to his feet, ignoring his sudden sense of wooziness, and started to move toward the battle line. Rowena, Sten, Morrigan (back in human form), Leliana, Bann Teagan, and several of the knights of Redcliffe had already begun to surround the revenant, all looking uncertain about what they were facing.

"They need to get out of the way!" Eruestan said frantically. "Revenants are extremely powerful, if they're not careful…"

As he spoke, two of the knights of Redcliffe charged forward, swords flashing. The beast thrust out one arm and twitched its hand; the two men rose into the air, where all of a sudden their necks snapped in half. The monster then flicked its wrist and sent them flying away.

"It's never bloody easy for us, is it?" Alistair yelled, charging forward; pale, Eruestan ran ahead too.

"There you are!" Rowena cried, not taking her eyes off the monster. "What the hell is this?"

"It's a revenant!" Eruestan yelled back. "Bad news!"

"Oh, you don't say!" she snapped. "Cormac, no!" The hound had started to lunge at the floating corpse; obeying his mistress, he retreated back to the flames, hunting down the last few corpses. "How do we kill it?"

Eruestan winced. "I…uh…I don't know how…"

"_What do you mean you don't know how_?"

"I don't have a lot of experience fighting floating demons, Rowena!"

"_Well bloody figure it out!" _she bellowed back as the revenant killed two more of the Redcliffe knights with a mere flick of its hands.

Trying desperately to recall everything he had ever learned about magic, Eruestan watched in frustration as yet another knight was sent flying. Suddenly, an idea came to him. "Morrigan! Do you know any misdirection hexes?"

"Perhaps!" she said, fighting two more corpses.

"Cast one on it now!" The witch raised an eyebrow. "_Please!_" She spun around, shouted something he couldn't quite hear, and sent a flash of red light towards the monster before blasting her two opponents away with a burst of force. Focusing his attention back to the revenant, Eruestan was relieved to see that its spells were now flying out at random, slamming into the corpses behind it or into the night air.

"Brilliant!" Rowena said. "Now do we kill it?"

He shook his head. "The closer you get, the more accurate its aim will be."

"Well, now what do we do?" she asked.

Eruestan bit his lip. "I might have an idea…you'll have to act fast, though."

"I can do fast," she said. "What's the plan?"

"I can try to freeze it solid – if it works, you'll be able to run it through. Be quick, though – it'll be able to melt the ice in a few seconds."

She looked forward and nodded grimly. "Got it. I'm ready when you are."

Nodding, Eruestan took a deep breath and looked back at the revenant, which was still trying to cast an accurate spell. The sky was growing lighter—that, or he was getting light-headed. Closing his eyes, he summoned the last of his energies and focused them in his chest. Retracting further and further into himself, the center of his chest was starting to become extremely cold when all of a sudden he flew his eyes open and thrust his hands out, sending out a wave of cold air so frigid it froze the grass five feet below it. The spell crashed into the revenant, freezing it completely. Not hesitating an instant, Rowena raced forward and jumped through the air as the creature began to fall, slicing her blade out in front of her. The revenant's head fell from its body and there was a flash of bright light – no, it was the sun peeking over the cliffs, chasing the few remaining corpses back into the castle. This, however, was the last thing Eruestan saw. Drained of his energy, he fell to his knees in spite of himself, and before he knew it everything went black.

* * *

_Huge apologies for how long this has taken - just survived my final exams! Thank you so much to all the people who have read and reviewed (as always, the wonderful mille libri deserves special attention!) and I promise from here on to be much more consistent! Feel free to review!_


	18. A Plan Reforged

Rowena needed a nap.

She liked to think of herself as tough – even though she grew up in a castle, training at Highever was always grueling, and she had never shied away from pain and discomfort. This pain and discomfort, however, always finished once she left the sparring ring. Though she would be loath to admit it now, there was nothing she wanted more than a warm bath, a hot meal, and a nap lasting several years.

Unfortunately, no such luxury was to be had. Bann Teagan had ordered reconstruction the moment the last corpses disappeared in the castle; the villagers had been working since daybreak. After making sure that Eruestan was taken care of, Rowena and Alistair had began cremating the bodies of fallen villagers.

"You know, when they first pitched being a Grey Warden to me, they somehow managed to leave this part out," Alistair huffed, throwing a decapitated body into the bonfire. Sweat poured down Rowena's face as she lugged another corpse toward the flames; she was too tired to mind. "Now where's the head…ah, there we go, I—oh, Maferath's knickers, I know this man." He stared awkwardly at the face he was holding for a second, then shrugged and threw it on the fire. "Sorry, Earl."

"Were there this many last night?" Rowena asked, throwing her own corpse onto the flames. Her memories were starting to blur together. "I seem to remember there being a lot fewer."

"However many there were, it was too much," Alistair said. "What do you think, Sten?"

"That you talk too much," the Qunari said, throwing three corpses stacked neatly on top of each other on top of the flames.

"Right." Alistair looked around and shrugged. "Well, that seems to be the last of them. Shall we—oh, great, look." Morrigan was approaching them from the chantry.

"Well, Alistair, I am glad to see that you have finally found a task suited to your intellectual capacities," she said, joining them. "And look, they've given you two helpers, too, in case you became confused."

"At least I'm doing something," Alistair said. "Where have you been, brooding in a corner for the past four hours?"

"I have been tending to the sick with Leliana and the priestesses, for your information," she retorted. "That is why I am here, in fact; Eruestan has reawoken."

Rowena started. "Oh, thank the Maker!" When Eruestan had collapsed earlier that morning, she first thought he'd died; once she realized he'd only been knocked unconscious, she refused to leave his side until the priestesses had carried him off to be treated. He had been convalescing in the chantry ever since. "Let's head over now, we're finished here."

The four of them walked into the building, squinting in the dimmed light. Rows of wounded lined the floor, some crying out, others lying still. Rowena noticed the weasely elven spy lying motionless in one of the corners of the building. _Serves you right for working with Howe, you bastard_.

Finding Eruestan in the crowd wasn't difficult. He was towards the back of the chantry, struggling feebly against Leliana and the revered mother, both of whom were trying to restrain him to his cot.

"Honestly, I'm _fine_," he said, sweat breaking out on his forehead. "I can help heal, you need magic—"

"And you need to rest, ser mage," the revered mother said. "The sisters and I have already treated the worst injuries, the best way for you to help is to regain your strength."

"With all respect, Your Reverence, that man is missing an _arm_, I highly doubt you'll able to treat that—"

"Not even magic is capable of regrowing limbs," Leliana said. "You're weak, Eruestan! You need to recover!"

"Leliana, stop saying that – oh, thank the Maker, there you are," Eruestan said, seeing the group approach. "Please tell these two that I'm more than able to help out!"

Rowena crossed her arms. "Eruestan. You've been unconscious for the past four hours. Do you honestly think I'm going to let you get off that cot?"

He scowled and leaned back down. "This is ridiculous…these people are hurt, I should be doing something!"

"Hey, count yourself lucky," Alistair said. "We've been shoveling bodies onto a fire for the entire morning."

"I take it that means we won?"

Rowena nodded. "The few we didn't get to retreated back into the castle after that Reverent or whatever it was died. Bann Teagan said there couldn't be more that a handful left."

"Still a handful too many, if you ask me," Alistair muttered. "The bann says the village is safe now, though."

"Maker be praised," Leliana said, bowing her head. "To think that such horrible creatures could exist under his gaze…"

"I rather think they fit right in with the idea I've been given of your Maker," Morrigan said. "He has allowed far worse things to happen."

The revered mother sat up straight. "I beg your pardon?"

"She hit her head last night," Rowena said quickly, jabbing the witch in the side; Morrigan glared at her. "She should be fine in a few hours.

There was a commotion up front; one of the remaining knights of Redcliffe burst into the building. "Grey Wardens!" he cried over the crowd, making his way through the sea of wounded. "Bann Teagan needs you right away at the edge of town!"

"What's the matter?" Alistair asked. "Has there been another attack?"

"No," he said. "It's the arlessa – she's left the castle!"

A while later, the group was slowly making its way up the hills outside the village, accommodating Eruestan's slower pace. The mage had insisted on coming along. As he was the only person in the village with any formal knowledge of demonology the others had reluctantly agreed. Turning around the corner, they found the bann deep in conversation with a tall blonde woman wearing a beautiful gown. "Shite," Alistair murmured. "Lady Isolde."

Rowena stared appraisingly at the arlessa. She had known Isolde for years; the arlessa was a beautiful, haughty woman with a very colored past. She was the daughter of the Orlesian lord of Redcliffe during Ferelden's occupation; incredibly, she had managed to fall in love with Eamon Guerrin, son of the former Arl of Redcliffe. When King Maric chased Isolde's father back to Orlais, she decided to remain in Ferelden and marry her love. Eleanor had once told her that "Isolde was Orlesian to the bone but Fereldan in her blood." Thinking about her mother was too painful, however, so she quickly focused on what the arlessa was saying.

"It's been awful, Teagan," she said, not paying attention to the approaching Wardens. "The dead 'ave been rising for days – they 'ave killed so many…I am so afraid, Teagan!"

"Isolde, slow down," the bann said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Start from the beginning; how did this happen?"

She took a deep breath. "I—but who are these people, Teagan?"

The bann turned around and sighed in relief. "There you are, thank the Maker. Isolde, these are the Grey Wardens I spoke to you about earlier."

"Grey Wardens? _Saint Créateur_, _quelle honneur_ – Lady Rowena, is that you?" the arlessa asked in surprise.

Rowena curtsied. "I believe I'm not the only face you'd recognize, Lady Isolde."

"What do you mean—_Alistair_?" The knight, who had been furiously studying the ground, jumped a good few feet into the air. "What are you doing 'ere?"

"Oh, you know, hanging around, killing the undead, the usual…" He coughed. "How are…things?"

"Terrible," she said. "Nearly all the men and women living in my _chateau_ are dead. My 'usband is at death's door with no cure in sight and the life of my son is in grave danger."

Alistair ran a hand through his hair. "So…not good, then?"

"Teagan, this is unbearable," Isolde snapped. "I 'ave very little time – those beasts told me I could only come to finish my mission, no more!"

"Mission?" the bann asked. "What mission?"

Isolde clutched his hand. "Teagan, you must come back to the _chateau_ with me – alone!"

"That is an ex-extremely bad idea," Eruestan said, still panting slightly from the climb. "You n-need to do some explaining f-first."

The arlessa whipped around to stare at him. "Who is this elf, Teagan, and why does 'ee speak to me so rudely?"

"Ser Eruestan is a Grey Warden from the Circle of Magi, Isolde, and I have to say I agree with him," Bann Teagan replied. "For three days monsters have been attacking the village, and you want me to follow you without any explanation at all?"

"But I do not know more than you do!" she cried. "We 'ave captured the mage responsible and yet the attacks do not stop! We are 'elpless!"

"Wait, there was a mage inside the castle?" Eruestan asked, frowning. "How?"

Isolde looked a little uncomfortable. "I…I do not know 'ow exactly 'ee came to Redcliffe. 'Ee was, 'owever, poisoning my 'usband. 'Ee claims to 'ave been 'ired by Teyrn Loghain – I do not know if this is true, but I am certain that 'ee 'as sent these monsters against us out of anger!"

"Have you tried to get him to end the spells?" Teagan asked.

She nodded. "Of course 'ee claims to be innocent – and Teagan, I am not sure 'ee could end it if 'ee wanted to. These beasts are so powerful…oh Teagan, please come with me! I begged the beasts to let me bring you to the _chateau_, you must 'urry – I am afraid they will 'urt Connor if I wait too long!"

"You can't be serious," Rowena protested. "Send him there alone? He'll be killed the moment he walks through the doors!"

"Why should that be?" Isolde retorted. "They 'ave spared me, my 'usband, and my son – why should they not spare Teagan as well?"

Rowena was not convinced. "At least let us go, too."

"_No_!" Isolde said; they all started. "I promised that only Teagan would come – they will be angry if there are any more." She turned to her brother-in-law. "Teagan, I know you can give orders to 'ave your men follow us into the _chateau_, but I beg you, do not. If those monsters see more soldiers approaching, they may 'urt Connor!"

"What good does sending him there alone do?" Rowena said angrily. "If no one else can go, Bann Teagan should stay here, we can figure out a plan from the outside and then—"

"I'll go," the bann said, cutting her off.

"_What_?" the group said in unison.

"That's ridiculous," Eruestan said. "You can't seriously consider—"

"I can." Teagan had a strange look on his face as he stared at Isolde; Rowena suddenly remembered a few whispered rumors she'd heard among the servants at Highever. "If my brother needs my help, I'll go after him."

"Oh, thank the Maker," Isolde said, tears forming in her eyes. "Come, we do not 'ave much time."

"One moment, please," he said. "I need to speak with the Wardens in private."

Isolde paused, eyes suddenly wary. "All right…please be quick, time is running out."

"You won't even realize I'm gone, Isolde." Teagan led the group over to the mill's entrance. "All right, so, here's the plan—"

"Plan? What plan?" Rowena snapped, cutting him off. "Walking in there alone? That'll only get you killed and you know it!"

"You're probably right," Teagan said. "Luckily, I'm not going in alone."

"The arlessa said the corpses would kill you if more people approached from the gates," Alistair said, frowning.

"That may be so. There is, however, another entrance into the castle." He gestured to the windmill towering on the hills overhead. "There's a tunnel that connects this windmill to the castle dungeons. It's meant as an escape route for the family in times of trouble."

"Glad to see it was put to good use, then," Sten said.

"I don't know why Isolde didn't try to use it to get out," Teagan said, "And I didn't want to use it to get in before I knew what was waiting for us on the other side. Now that most of the corpses are killed, though, you can cross through it to get into the castle and give me some support."

"People do love risking our necks for us, do they not?" Morrigan muttered.

"I still don't like this," Eruestan said. "What if we don't reach you in time? What if whatever's taken over the castle ensnares us, too?"

"For lack of better option, we don't worry about that yet." Teagan pulled a ring off his finger. "If anything happens to me, do whatever it takes to protect Isolde and her family. In the meantime, take this." He handed them the ring. "The Guerrin seal opens the door to the tunnel; I'll head in through the gates and try to distract whatever's in there while you enter from below."

"This is a fool plan," Sten muttered.

"Well, hopefully it's one that will work," the bann said. "I must go – give us a half hour, then climb up to the mill – I don't want Isolde to know that you're coming."

"Understood," Alistair said. "Maker watch over you, Bann Teagan."

"And you as well," the bann said. With that he left to join the arlessa.

Despite their great fatigue, the group was too tense from past events to try to sleep. After roughly a half-hour of concerned looks and sighs, Rowena finally stretched her back and said, "Well, let's get started, then. Eruestan, get two of the knights to take you back to the chantry while we—"

"Oh, no, you don't," the elf cried. "This time, you really do need me – I've been studying demons since I was eight, I know more about them than any of you."

"You have not lived with my mother," Morrigan murmured.

Eruestan ignored her. "Besides, I feel totally fine now – this is no big deal." His knees buckled. "Er…I meant to do that."

Rowena sighed. "Just don't pass out down there, we _will _leave you behind."

"No, we won't," Leliana mouthed behind her; Eruestan grinned and gave her a thumbs-up.

The group made their way up towards the windmill, Eruestan struggling slightly to keep up. Walking up to the building, Rowena pushed its door open and led everyone inside. Piles of flour filled the room; whoever the miller was, he hadn't bothered collecting his things after the attacks had started. "Hm…I don't see any tunnel entrance…"

"It is probably in the floor," Leliana said, bending down. "Try looking under that straw pallet, I bet there's…aha!" She lifted the mat, revealing a square trapdoor.

"How did you know that?" Rowena asked in amazement.

She shrugged. "Finding secret passageways into noblemen's houses was another one of my specialties."

"Ok, seriously, time out," Alistair said. "Leliana, what the hell did you do before you joined the Chantry?"

She hesitated. "I hardly think this is the time to—"

"I think we'd all care to know that, actually," Eruestan said.

"I wouldn't."

"Thank you, Sten," he sighed. "But honestly, fighting, seduction, breaking and entering…where did you learn all of that?"

She lifted her chin. "Well, I was a traveling minstrel in Orlais."

Rowena gasped. "You were a bard?"

"That is another word for it, yes," Leliana replied.

This was an unpleasant development. Rowena had only spent a week at the Imperial Court in Val Royeaux, but that had been more than enough time to see the role the Orlesian bards played in the intrigues of the aristocracy. True, the bards did sing and dance; however, they also spied, seduced, sabotaged, and killed. They were dangerous, deceitful men and women that were not to be trusted.

Leliana must have seen the look on her face, however, because she tutted impatiently and said, "Every minute we waste out here is another moment where the bann's life is in danger. Let us get going."

"Uh…right, right…" Rowena took the signet ring and found the hole corresponding to it in the trapdoor. Placing the ring inside, she pushed down and with a rush of air unsealed the door. Pulling it up, she revealed a large, dark hole that stretched down into darkness. "Um…anyone have a light?"

"Here." Eruestan stepped in front of her and held out his hand, summoning a small white light. The effort staggered him slightly; loath as he was to admit it, he was still reeling from the draining magic from the night before. Leaning forward, he illuminated a long tunnel that started with a drop a few feet below them. Taking a deep breath, he jumped down and led the way into the passage.

The air was cool and damp; wet moss clung to the walls and shot up in the ruts of the stone floor. The tunnel had been carved out of the hills of Redcliffe and immediately began twisting its way toward the castle. Whoever had been in charge had not been particularly good at his or her job; the stonework was irregular and hard to walk across, often making them stumble. The group walked mainly in silence, the quiet occasionally punctured by the sounds of someone tripping.

"What do you think we're going to find once we get there?" Alistair asked finally, stepping over a large crack.

"Likely our deaths, the way this plan is heading," Morrigan said. "Although it does seem that we shall be possessed and reanimated afterwards, so that is promising."

"You know, that's what I like about you, Morrigan, you're always so optimistic."

"You show me the optimism in this situation," she replied. "The creatures we faced last night killed indiscriminately, why should they spare the bann? Because this woman asked politely? No, he will be dead once we find him and we will follow suit."

"The rest of Arl Eamon's family has survived this far," Alistair pointed out. "Why shouldn't Bann Teagan?"

"I actually have a question about that," Rowena said. "How do we know Lady Isolde isn't just possessed? Like, maybe the demons killed Eamon and Connor and possessed her, and now they're trying to kill Teagan too?"

"That is quite a good point," Leliana said in horror. "Maker's breath, Rowena, why didn't you say that earlier?"

"I didn't think of it then," she said, pained.

"That's all right," Eruestan said, concentrating on not losing the light. "It was the first thing I thought of when the arlessa came out of the castle."

"Oh!" Rowena looked surprised. "Really?"

He nodded. "Why else do you think I was so insistent on coming?"

"Because you're a perfectionist with an inferiority complex and a death wish?"

"So why didn't _you_ say anything, Eruestan?" Leliana asked, ignoring the black glare on the elf's face.

"Because Lady Isolde unwittingly gave me all the proof I needed to know she wasn't," he replied, still glowering at Rowena. "She recognized Alistair and Rowena – a demon outside of the Fade wouldn't have had access to her memories like that. The arlessa's alive and unpossessed, I'm assuming that means the same is true for the arl and Con—did you hear something?"

The group stopped and listened. The tunnel turned around a corner a few feet ahead of them, and a low howling was coming from wherever it led. "Maybe it's the wind?" Alistair whispered.

Eruestan frowned and turned the corner. A large oak door lay at the end of the tunnel a few feet down; the howls, getting louder and louder, were coming from behind it. "Something tells me this is going to be horrifying."

"Like we haven't seen that before," Rowena said, pushing ahead. "All right, everyone, get ready." She, Sten, and Alistair drew their swords while Leliana notched back an arrow. Eruestan and Morrigan headed to the back; with a nod to Rowena, Eruestan closed his hand and bathed the corridor in blackness. "CHARGE!" Rowena screamed, kicking the door open.

They rushed in and stopped in shock. They were in a part of the castle dungeons, illuminated by flickering torches. Cells lined the walls; in each one, a reanimated corpse was lunging at them, restrained by the dungeon's iron cages.

"Well, 'horrifying' was an understatement," Eruestan said, staring in disgust at the nearest ghoul who was banging its head against the metal door.

"Is someone there?" a voice cried from the end of the hall. "Someone living, I mean?"

Eruestan's ears perked up. He recognized that voice.

"Who's there?" Rowena yelled, walking past the corpse cells. "Show yourself!"

"I'm in the last cell on the left," the voice said; Eruestan walked forward as if in a trance; he had lost his mind, that had to be it. "Maker's breath, am I glad to someone new, I thought I was going crazy here by my—_Eruestan?_"

The corpses' howling echoed in his ears. "Jowan," he said.

His former friend looked terrible. His skin was paler and slack, smeared with dirt and what appeared to be dried blood. His robes were torn; around his wrists were a pair of handcuffs carved with magic-negating runes.

"What are you doing here?!" he said. "I thought for sure you'd be dead!"

Eruestan was furious without even realizing it. "I'm not, despite everything you tried," he said. "The Grey Wardens recruited me after you betrayed us and left us for dead."

"Grey Wardens, huh?" Jowan shook his head in disbelief. "Bloody figures…you even get kicked out of the Tower better than me."

"Shut up, maleficar," Eruestan snapped.

"I, uh, take it you know each other?" Rowena said, raising her voice over the howls of the undead.

He nodded. "He's…was…my friend from the Tower."

"_Best_ friend," Jowan corrected.

Eruestan glared at him. "I _really_ would not push your luck right now."

"Look, I'm sorry about what happened at the Tower," Jowan said, grabbing the bars of his cell. "I only started learning blood magic to help me get out of the Circle, I was going to give it all up the instant Lily and I escaped!"

"Wait, he's a blood mage?" Alistair said, sword suddenly tense. "Your best friend was a blood mage?"

Eruestan felt his ears flush. "I didn't know it at the time…but yes, yes he was."

Alistair turned back to the prisoner. "So you're the mage the arlessa was talking about."

Jowan went a little pale, eyeing the sword warily. "Ah. You've spoken with the arlessa."

"Yes, Jowan, we have," Eruestan said. "And before you try to wiggle your way out of this, we also know that you tried to poison the arl. I don't think it's a stretch of the imagination to assume you started whatever this is, either." He pointed at the corpse next to him, which lunged at his outstretched finger.

He dropped his head. "I did poison the arl," he muttered. "You're right there. But I didn't summon these demons! I don't know anything about them!"

"That's likely," Eruestan snapped.

"Let him speak, Eruestan," Morrigan said. "Everyone has a right to defend themselves."

"I know him, Morrigan," he replied coldly. "We can't trust him."

"Eruestan, I know I betrayed you," Jowan said. "But this time you have to believe me! Teyrn Loghain's men captured me the instant I got to Denerim—the teyrn said Lady Isolde was looking for an illegal mage and that I was to use that as a cover to poison Arl Eamon. He was already a little ill at that point, so Teyrn Loghain said no one would suspect me once things started going south. He said the arl was a threat to Ferelden and that if I did it, he'd figure out a way to get me back into the Circle."

"Back into the Circle?" Eruestan asked.

He nodded. "It was all I wanted at that point."

Eruestan stared at him. "Are you _fucking_ kidding me? Everything you put us through and you want to go _back_?"

Jowan shrugged. "The heart wants what the heart wants."

Eruestan was three seconds away from strangling him. "This all doesn't make sense, though," he said, pinching his nose. "What would Lady Isolde want with an illegal mage? The Circle would have sent healers for free if she had asked."

Jowan hesitated. "I wasn't sent here to heal the arl."

"So you're here to do party tricks?" Alistair asked, eyeing one of the corpses near him that had started snapping at his hand.

"It's Connor," Jowan said. "He's started showing signs of magic. The arlessa was terrified the Templars would take him away if anyone found out, so she started looking for illegal tutors that could train him to hide his powers. Of course Teyrn Loghain found out, and that's how I ended up here. If you ask me, I think he might be the one who's started all this."

"Maker's breath, Jowan, how much blood magic did you teach him?" Eruestan asked in horror.

"I didn't teach him _any_ blood magic, Eruestan," Jowan said. "Besides, he's too young to cast any of the spells that would summon anything this powerful. But he might have attracted something from across the Fade, which would explain the tear in the Veil."

"Connor's a mage?" Alistair said, eyes wide. "I don't believe it…"

"Neither do I," Eruestan said. "He's a liar."

"Eruestan," Jowan said, leaning against the bars of his cage. "I've done a lot of bad things in the past, especially to you – but you have to believe me, I want to change that. I want to fix this! Please, let me help!"

"I trusted you once, Jowan," Eruestan said, raising his voice; the corpses had started screeching. "You're a maleficar. How could anyone trust you after what you've done?"

"If he want to redeem himself, let him!" Leliana said. "Everyone deserves a chance to change the past."

"You don't know Jowan like I do, Leliana."

"I cannot believe I am about to say this," Morrigan said, "but I agree with Leliana. The only crime this man has committed is breaking the foolish rules your Chantry has set upon magic. If he wishes to help resolve the situation, all the better."

Eruestan felt his heart rate pick up. He had spent so much time avoiding telling this story that he hardly knew where to start. "Look, I've never told any of you why I left the Tower, have I?" They shook their heads. "Well, the day after my Harrow—er, the day after I became a fully-initiated mage, Jowan asked—no, _begged _me to help him break out of the Circle along with his girlfriend, an initiate in the Chantry. He told me he had been falsely accused of being a blood mage, that he was going to become Tranq—er, that he was going to have his connection to the Fade severed if I didn't help. So I did. I helped find what we needed to set him free. Then we got caught. Turns out, Jowan was a blood mage after all; he attacked the First Enchanter and the Commander of the Templars and then disappeared without a trace. If Duncan hadn't been there, I…well, it wouldn't have been pleasant. That's why we can't trust him; that's why I'm not buying the 'redemption' pitch."

The room was silent for a moment, save for the shrieks of the corpses. "People can change, you know," Leliana murmured.

"Sure, but can blood mages?" he replied.

"Eruestan, please," Jowan said, his voice shaking. "You used to be my best friend – my only friend. I know I don't deserve to call you that anymore – still, if that friendship ever meant anything to you, please, please give me a chance! I've made so many mistakes, but I have changed since then! I realize what I've done!"

Eruestan crossed his arms.

"Will you free this mage or not?" Sten said suddenly from the back.

"I will not," Eruestan said firmly.

"Then kill him and let us move on."

Eruestan blinked. "W-what?"

"Kill him," Sten said. "You say he can't be trusted and that he's likely behind all the goings-on in the castle. Why spare him then? Put an end to his life and punish him for his crimes."

"You cannot be serious!" Leliana cried in horror. "How can you kill a man who wishes to correct his wrongs?"

"He _is_ a maleficar, though," Alistair said, uneasy. "I'm not an expert, but I have seen some of what they can do, and Eruestan's right, that type of magic is extremely dangerous."

"Killing a mage for practicing magic is the act of a fool," Morrigan said sharply. "Birds are not killed because they can fly."

Eruestan turned slowly to Jowan, who looked even paler. "You're not seriously thinking about killing me, are you?" he said nervously. "A-are you?"

He closed his eyes and turned to Rowena. "What do you think?"

She looked pained. "I don't like the idea of slaughtering someone trapped in a prison cell…but you know him best. If you really think he's that much of a threat, it might be best to deal with him now rather than give him a chance to do something worse."

Eruestan stared back at his former friend. Jowan had betrayed him in the worst way possible, taking 14 years of friendship and throwing it back in his face. He was also a blood mage; Eruestan had seen firsthand the terrible power Jowan had, and he knew that he was too dangerous to let free. Still, to actually kill him…

"Let him stay in his cell," he said. "I won't kill him, but I'm not letting him out, either. We can decide what to do with him once we figure out what's going on in the castle."

Jowan nodded slowly and drew back from the door. "I guess that's the best I could expect…and Eruestan?" The elf crossed his arms and looked away. "You don't have to tell me this, but…what happened to Lily? The idea that she's suffering because of something I did is killing me."

Eruestan froze for a second, then looked Jowan in the eyes. "I…I don't know, Jowan," he said. "They took her away just before I left, but Greagoir didn't say where."

"That bastard," Jowan said with a sad smile. "He always had to fuck us over somehow, didn't he?" Eruestan smiled faintly in spite of himself. "But…thank you for telling me, Eruestan."

He nodded and then turned to the rest of his companions. "Let's go," he said. "We've wasted enough time here, Bann Teagan needs us."

Once they turned around the corner, Eruestan slumped against the wall without warning. "Eruestan!" Rowena cried in alarm, running forward.

"I'm f-fine," he said, waving her off. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself back onto his feet. He didn't know whether the shock of seeing Jowan or the exhaustion from the night before had weakened him – all he knew is that now he had a terrible headache.

"I'll take the lead from here," Alistair said, looking at Eruestan in concern. "I know the castle best, I can take us to the great hall easily."

They began to continue down the hallway, the shrieks of the ghouls fading behind them. Eruestan felt a pang of guilt at leaving Jowan alone among them – then again, seeing as he was likely the reason the castle was full of undead in the first place, he supposed it was rather fitting.

They soon found themselves in a large corridor. There was a strange energy in the air, almost as if a slight electrical current were flowing through the castle. It was not an entirely unpleasant feeling – strangely, Eruestan's strength seemed to recover with each step he took. Alistair led them up a flight of stairs and through a series of rooms and hallways. Redcliffe was eerily silent – there were signs of struggle all throughout the castle. Most of the rooms were completely ruined: blood splattered walls, broken furniture, and smashed-in doors. There were no bodies to be found, however.

"This is so creepy," Alistair said as they walked past a series of servants' rooms that had been torn to pieces. "Everything is way too quiet." At that moment, something rustled from the other side of a closed door right next to him.

The group froze and shot each other a series of looks. "Corpses?" Rowena mouthed.

Alistair shrugged and slowly drew his sword. Collecting himself, he bared his teeth and burst the door open, yelling a giant battle cry.

He barged in on a young woman huddled in a corner, who took one look at all their drawn weapons and began screaming frantically.

"Shite!" Alistair quickly lowered his sword. "Sorry! Thought you were dead!" The girl continued to scream, eyes wild. "Ok, someone take over here."

"It's all right!" Rowena said, stepping forward. "We're alive, too!" The girl kept screaming. "You don't need to do that, we're here to help!" More screaming. "Ok, honestly, who else do you think is going to hear you?"

"All right, let me take care of this." Leliana knelt down and smacked the girl across the face. Spluttering, the panic went out of her eyes as her screaming subsided. "There we go," Leliana said gently. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm…I'm fine," she stammered. "I'm s-sorry, I've just been trapped in this room for th-three days, listening to those th-things kill everyone…it's been a little…upsetting…" She shook her head. "Forgive me, I'm Valena. I'm the arlessa's maid."

"Valena?" Rowena said. "Are you Owen's daughter?"

She started. "You know my father?"

"Know him?" Alistair snorted. "He practically threw us over the castle walls himself to bust you out of here."

"That sounds like Da," she said, smiling slightly. "Is…is he all right? Did those beasts hurt him?"

"He's fine," Eruestan said. "Although his liver might need a bit of attention in a few years."

Valena shuddered softly and gave a gasp of relief. "Blessed Andraste…please, I need to get back to my home. The castle's been quiet for hours now – is it finally safe to leave?"

Alistair nodded. "Head out through the servant's entrance, this part of the castle is safe for now."

"Th-Thank you," she said, eyes shining. "I'll be fine if most of those creatures are gone – I'm a fast runner and I know the castle – thank you so much!"

"At least there is one happy ending in this story," Leliana said as they watched Valena disappear around a corner.

"True," Morrigan said, "especially if one disregards the years of trauma that will follow three days spent trapped in a castle full of undead monsters."

"That's the spirit," Rowena sighed. "Come on, let's get to the bann."

Alistair led them through the many twisting halls of the castle. As they approached the great hall, he stopped suddenly, a strange look on his face. "Do you hear that?" he asked, frowning. The group stood still for a moment, straining to listen. The castle was completely silent – then, out of nowhere, a faint sound of music began drifting through the halls.

"Ok, this just got upgraded to _super_ creepy," Rowena said.

As they drew closer to the hall, the music grew louder and more jarring. Whoever was playing sounded as if they'd never picked up an instrument before: the song was full of squeaks and twangs. Yet as they drew closer to the great hall, Eruestan's strength returned more and more. By the time they reached the massive wooden doors, he felt completely recovered; in fact, so much energy was surging through the air that he could feel the hair on his neck start to raise; he wondered if Morrigan felt the same. Beside him, Cormac began snarling at the door, a shiver running through his fur.

"There's powerful magic at work here," he murmured. "We should be careful."

Rowena nodded. "What do you think's waiting for us?"

"No idea," he replied.

"They didn't cover demonic possession at the Circle?"

"Oh, they did," he said. "However, their policy was usually just 'kill everything in sight before the situation gets out of control.' Not very useful if we want to take a diplomatic approach…"

"Well, our priority should be protecting Connor," Alistair said. "Whatever's going on, the poor kid's probably terrified."

The group pushed open the doors and stopped short. Rather than a bloodbath, they had walked into what seemed to be a fairly morbid dinner party. A small group of corpses had grabbed harps and lutes and were strumming them haphazardly, not paying any attention to the sounds they were creating. Three guards that appeared to still be alive were blowing into clarinets without any idea of what they were doing, faces completely glazed over. Perhaps most bizarre, however, was Bann Teagan, who was doing cartwheels up and down the hall.

"WHEEEEEE!" he shouted, flying past them. "Grass is green and the sky is blue, I'm mad as bats and so are you!"

Leliana gagged. "That's terrible poetry."

"What is going on here?" Alistair asked in horror.

"Connor," someone said weakly from the back of the room, "Connor, please, stop this madness!"

"Silence, woman!" a horrible, distorted voice yelled back. "You're ruining my fun!"

Cormac began barking violently as the group looked up to see Arlessa Isolde standing on a dais next to a small boy who was gleefully watching the bann do a series of backflips through the hall. "This is the best thing to happen to this castle in ages, you old cow!" he crowed.

Eruestan went pale. "Oh, shite."

The bann jumped up in front of them out of nowhere. "My looooooooooooord," he sang out, his eyes rolling crazily. "We have visitooooooooors!"

Isolde and Connor both looked up to the entrance; the music kept blaring in the background. "Who are they?" the boy asked in his horrible voice. "Why are they here?"

"G-Grey Wardens," Isolde said, voice faltering. "W-what are you doing 'ere?"

"Uh, Bann Teagan sent us," Rowena said, distracted by the bann who was now skipping merrily around them. "He thought there might be…trouble…"

"Trouble?" Connor said, frowning. "_Trouble_? There's no trouble here!"

"There's no trouble here!" Bann Teagan sang, still skipping. "There's no trouble hair! Might I braid your lovely hair?"

"Not unless you want a broken hand," Sten responded. The bann burst into hysterical laughter.

"Woman, why are these people here?" Connor snapped. "They are being rude to my uncle."

"Has he gone crazy?" Alistair asked in disgust.

Eruestan shook his head. "He's possessed."

"_No!_" The arlessa's voice rang out loudly above the music in the hall. "Connor is _not_ possessed," she said more calmly. "My son is still 'ere, sometimes 'ee—"

"Mother!" Connor said suddenly, now in the voice of a terrified young boy. "Mother, what's happening to me? Where am I?"

"Connor!" Isolde cried, dropping to her knees and embracing him. "Oh, thank the Maker! Please, let this be the end of this 'ole—"

"Get off me, woman!" the boy said, once more in his awful voice. "Your sniveling annoys me!"

"Annoys him, it does!" Bann Teagan cackled. "Your sniveling!"

"Possessed?" Alistair asked sharply. "What does that mean?"

"His body's being controlled by a demon from the Fade," Eruestan explained, his heart sinking. "It's just like the corpses, although in this case the demon is probably much stronger. Anyways, he's no longer in control of himself."

"I don't like his tone!" Connor shouted, taking a step off the dais. "I should cut off his ears and feed them to the dogs, like I did to the other elves!"

"Connor, _non_!" the arlessa screamed. "Please, don't hurt anyone!"

It was too late. The music screeched to a halt as Bann Teagan, the guards, and the undead stopped their antics and turned slowly towards the Wardens. Grinning manically, Teagan slowly picked up a sword from the ground while the others tensed themselves for a fight.

"Don't kill anyone living!" Eruestan cried as Leliana sped past him, knocking out one of the guards with a kick to the temple, then sweeping the legs out from under his partner. Beside her, Rowena smacked the remaining guard across the face with her sheathed sword while Cormac tackled a corpse and viciously attacked its neck, severing its head. Sten beheaded the other two corpses with a smooth swipe of his greatsword.

The only target left was Bann Teagan, who was fighting furiously against Alistair. Already sweating from the strain of defending himself while trying not to hurt the bann, he blocked a series of blows on his shield then tried to use it to blast Teagan to his feet. The bann spun out of the way and sliced down with his sword; Alistair jumped back and quickly parried another series of strikes to his face.

"You'll never win!" the bann jeered. "You can't beat us! You can't beat him! You can't beat anyone!" Suddenly, he froze, and without a word slumped to the floor.

Alistair looked up in shock to see Morrigan standing behind the bann, lowering her hands. "What have you done?!"

"He's merely unconscious," Morrigan snapped. "Do you really think that I am so foolish as to—"

"Guys!" Rowena snapped. "Focus!"

They looked up to Connor, who had turned very pale. "Who—who are you?" he cried, his voice normal once more. "Don't hurt me!"

Alistair and Isolde both opened their mouths to say something; Eruestan shook his head and cut them off. "Is this Connor speaking?" he said. "Or someone else?"

The boy frowned. "Fool! How dare you question me!"

Eruestan ignored him. "We're not here to speak with you, demon! Let him go!"

Connor's face screwed up. "NEVER!" Eruestan moved forward; however, before he could reach him, a wave of force rippled through the hall, blasting everyone off their feet. By the time Eruestan was able to stand up again, Connor had vanished.

"Teagan!" the arlessa cried, running over to the bann, who had started to stir. "Are you all right?"

"I…what happened to me?" the bann asked, looked around in a daze. "I walked into the great hall and then all of a sudden, nothing…"

"It was Connor," Eruestan said. "He's been possessed by a demon."

"Where did he go?" Alistair said, climbing to his feet.

"'Ee – 'ee 'as gone to the private quarters of the _chateau_," the arlessa said quietly. "The…the d-demon takes 'im there to make sure that no one approaches 'is father…"

"Isolde…you knew about this?" the bann asked in horror, rising to his feet as well.

The arlessa looked down at her hands. "Connor…started showing signs of magic – small things, like candles being lit, doors flying shut…Eamon never noticed, but I, I knew right away…"

"And you didn't tell anyone?" Teagan asked.

"I am no fool, Teagan," Isolde said, looking up at him sharply. "I know what 'appens to mages – they would take my Connor away from me and I would never see 'im again. 'Ow could I do that to myself? 'Ow could I do zat to my son?"

"So you hired Jowan to teach him," Eruestan said.

She nodded. "I wanted someone to teach Connor to 'ide 'is magic – I thought that if 'ee could learn to control it, no one would ever know. I sent people across Ferelden and Orlais, looking for men and women to teach 'im; when Jowan came, I questioned nothing. 'Ee taught Connor many things – but 'ee was poisoning my 'usband at the same time!" She wiped her eyes angrily with her sleeve. "Once I found out, I threw 'im in the dungeons, and before I knew it Connor was possessed and the dead were rising! I tried to 'ave that man reverse what 'ee did, but 'ee refused! This is not Connor's fault!"

"With all due respect, Lady Isolde, Jowan didn't do this," Eruestan said reluctantly. "The magic attaching a demon to another human body is highly ritualized and requires tons of energy – Jowan _couldn't_ have done it if he wanted to!"

"So you think my son did this 'ighly complicated spell?" Isolde shot back. "You think a boy of eight was able to do what a grown man could not?"

"What happened to Connor was not deliberate," Eruestan said. "In this case, he likely made a deal with a demon that had already approached him – probably to heal the arl, I bet. Now that demon's possessing him – something that could have been avoided if he'd been sent to the Circle in the first place."

"If you think for a second that I would let my only son—"

"Enough!" Bann Teagan yelled, stepping between them. "What's happened in the past is done, right now we need to focus on the problem at hand. If Connor is truly possessed, what can we do to free him?"

Eruestan hesitated. "There…aren't many options. In fact, the only one I know of is…"

"Is what?" the bann said.

"Is destroying the human vessel," Eruestan finished.

Silence hung in the air as the weight of his words settled in. "No," Isolde said.

"I don't know of any other way to—"

"_No_," she said more frantically. "Stop him! You cannot 'urt my son!"

"He's not your son anymore," Eruestan said sadly, "he's an abomination. Connor is gone."

The arlessa turned to her brother-in-law. "Teagan," she pleaded, "'elp me! Do not let this man 'urt my Connor!"

The bann looked devastated. "Isolde…I can't…if the Warden believes…"

"NO!" Isolde fell to the floor, face buried in her hands.

Teagan turned to Eruestan. "Warden, I will respect whatever decision you deem appropriate – still, given the circumstances…"

"I don't like it either," Eruestan admitted. "But it's all I've ever been taught…"

"Morrigan, do you know a different solution?" Rowena asked, face gone pale.

The witch shook her head. "Mother taught me to summon demons, never to banish them."

"Jowan," the arlessa said suddenly, sitting up straight. "Send for Jowan."

"There's no need for that," Eruestan said, frowning.

"Jowan knows magic that neither of you do," Isolde said sharply. "Perhaps 'ee knows a way to get rid of this demon without 'arming my son!"

"If he does, it'll be through blood magic!" Eruestan snapped. "We can't just allow that!"

"We suffer because of blood magic," she replied. "Perhaps blood magic can solve this mess as well."

"Unless it puts us in even worse trouble!"

Bann Teagan cleared his throat. "Isolde, I have to say, involving a blood mage—"

"I will not 'ear another opinion!" the arlessa shouted, rising to her feet. "So long as my 'usband is ill, I am in charge of the _chateau_ and I demand to 'ave this mage brought before me!" She waved imperiously at the three guards, who at this point had regained consciousness. Eruestan crossed his arms as they limped down to the dungeons; he didn't like where things were going.

Fifteen minutes later, Jowan was thrown at the feet of the arlessa. "Good morning, Your Ladyship," he muttered, picking himself up.

"Do not address me, maleficar," Isolde snapped. "How dare you speak to me, after all the trouble you 'ave caused!"

"I am sorry I poisoned your husband," Jowan said quietly, looking at the floor, "but like I've said before, I have nothing to do with the events of the past few days."

The arlessa smacked him across the face. "_Do not lie to me, you monster_!" she shrieked, face red.

"Isolde, please!" Bann Teagan stepped in front of her and held her back. "Calm yourself! You'll only make it harder to get his help!" Reluctantly, the arlessa took a step back, breathing heavily. "Regardless of what you have or haven't done, mage, my nephew is possessed by a demon. We have been told that the only way to banish this spirit is by killing Connor – is this true? Or is there another way?"

Jowan bit his lip. "I…well, the _easiest_ way is certainly to kill the physical body…you could, however, enter the Fade."

"Enter the Fade?"

He nodded. "The demon exists on two planes now – if we enter the Fade, confront it and defeat it, scatter its energies, it will be destroyed and Connor will be set free."

The bann turned to Eruestan. "Is what he says true?"

"In theory, yes," Eruestan said, frowning more deeply. "But in practice, it's impossible. The amount of lyrium we'd need to send a mage across the Veil would be astronomical, we'd never have enough energy to—"

"There's…another resource," Jowan said, looking down at the floor again.

Eruestan shot him a look. "No."

"We can use blood magic to send someone across the Veil," Jowan continued, looking up at the arlessa. "I know a ritual that could do it..."

"_No_, Jowan."

"…but I'd need a lot of life energy," he said, ignoring Eruestan. "Almost all of it, actually."

"Meaning…" Teagan said slowly.

"Meaning someone would have to sacrifice themselves for the ritual," Jowan finished.

The room was once again filled with a very pregnant silence. "I shall do it," Isolde said suddenly.

"What?!" Teagan and Eruestan both said sharply.

"Isolde, that's madness," Teagan said. "Think of Eamon!"

"Eamon and I would both give our lives for our son," the arlessa said. "I would expect ze same from 'im."

"We _can't_ do this," Eruestan said loudly. "This is blood magic of the worst kind, for all we know it could rip the Veil even further!"

"What else can we do?" the arlessa said simply. "Eef my life can be used to save zat of my son, zen I shall be content."

"Warden, please," Teagan said, "there must be another way to enter the Fade."

Eruestan bit his lip, a slight feeling of panic building up in his stomach. "I…I don't know…I mean, only the Circle would have the lyrium we'd need…"

"What about the Circle, then?" Alistair said suddenly.

Eruestan stared at him. "What?"

"That's right!" Rowena said, color slowly returning to her face. "The Circle! It can't be too far from here, can it? After all, it's on Lake Calenhad as well!"

"About a day's journey by boat," Teagan said thoughtfully.

"I…I mean, maybe…" Eruestan had a fleeting image of the look on the First Enchanter's face when he had been chased from the Tower. "You don't think it's too far, though? What if Connor decides to attack again?"

"I can take care of that," Jowan said firmly.

Eruestan looked at him for a moment. "I've seen how you take care of things, Jowan."

"What other solution is there?" he shot back. "Having more of you stay would only provoke the demon – if you're gone for what, two, three days? I can contain the demon to the private quarters of the castle for that long."

Eruestan wasn't convinced. "And what'll keep you from attacking everyone and running the instant those handcuffs are removed?"

"That's a risk we'll have to take, isn't it?" Jowan replied coldly. "Look, you can be bitter all you want, but the fact of the matter is, if you don't leave to get help, either Connor or the arlessa is going to have to die. Do you want that weighing on your precious little head?"

Eruestan glanced at the arlessa, who for all her dignity suddenly looked very lonely standing on the dais. As for Connor…the thought of killing a child made him nauseous. Jowan was right; there was no other option. "We'll go, then," he said slowly. "Give us a boat, and we'll do it."

Isolde shuddered dramatically and for a moment looked to be on the verge of fainting. "_M-merci_," she stammered, eyes filling with tears. "P-Please, 'urry. My son's life ees een your 'ands."

"We will," Eruestan said. "I'll bring the First Enchanter himself if I have to."

"It seems every path we take branches off in another thousand directions," Sten muttered. "I didn't realize 'ability to be easily distracted' was part of the requirements for being a Grey Warden."

Eruestan ignored Sten and walked over to Jowan. "I'm going to trust you, although Andraste knows you don't deserve it," he murmured.

"Th-thank you, Eruestan," Jowan replied.

He looked his former friend in the eye. "But Maker help me, Jowan, betray me again and I don't care how far you go, I will find you and I will make you pay."

"Understood," Jowan said, slightly more coldly. "Oh, and Eruestan? Say hi to Greagoir for me."

* * *

_Hi everyone! Sorry this has taken so long - I just finished my third year of university abroad, so final exams/traveling took precedent for a while! Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing (again, in particular the wonderful mille libri, who's been a supporter for so long)!_


	19. As the Bells Toll

In Denerim, chaos ruled.

The weather in the city had been abnormally cold all week; some said that the Maker was mourning the loss at Ostagar. When the rains picked up the night before the king's funeral, this theory seemed proven. Now, the revered mothers of the Denerim chantry were scrambling in front of the king's pyre, unable to get it alight.

"I am so sorry, Your Majesty," the Grand Cleric murmured in her ear. "What with all the rain…"

Anora hardly minded. This pyre was purely symbolic; Cailan's body lay rotting in some ditch down south. It was so like him to inconvenience everyone else, too…the masses, however, were beginning to grumble, and the rain was starting to seep through her cloak. "Father," she said softly, "we should do something."

The teyrn was lost in thought. "Hm? Ah, yes, yes…" He lapsed back into his reveries; Anora sighed and turned back to the Grand Cleric.

"Is there anything we can do, Your Grace, to speed things along? The crowds are getting restless." So was she, though she wouldn't admit it.

"What's that, my child?" Grand Cleric Elemena was a bit hard of hearing.

"Might we speed things up?" Anora murmured, not wanting the crowd to hear her.

The priestess's face was blank. "Huh?"

This was a losing battle. "Father, we really should—" She paused; her father was deep in conversation with a messenger from the palace. Without saying anything, he stepped off the dais and walked to the back of the chantry courtyard.

"Maker save Your Grace!" someone from the crowd yelled; Loghain climbed on his horse and began to ride off, not acknowledging them. A few boos were called out; Anora cursed her father internally. The city was confused, and actions like that wouldn't earn them much support. "Your Grace, we need to end this now!" she hissed.

The Grand Cleric blinked. "Oh! Of course." The old woman raised her hands in front of the crowd, silencing the shouts. "Children of the Maker," she called out, "your creator watches over you in these dark times! Trust in him, and trust in his bride, Andraste!"

The queen stopped paying attention as the prayer continued, wondering instead where her father had gone. He had ridden off on horseback; she would have to as well once the ceremony was over. Times were difficult, and the people wanted to see their queen, regardless of how cold she was. She shivered in her cloak. The way things had been going lately, she was likely to catch a pneumonia before she returned home.

The priestess finished her blessing; the crowds began to disperse, some a bit begrudgingly. Anora made a note of their behavior. Morale in the capitol was understandably low; if things turned violent, the crown would be forced to act against its own people.

"Once more, you have my deepest apologies, Your Majesty," the Grand Cleric said, interrupting her thoughts. "Now that the ceremony is finished, perhaps you would like a moment alone with the pyre? I know it's only symbolic, but the Maker will hear your prayers for the king all the same."

Anora paused for a moment. Amidst all the chaos, it was easy to forget that Cailan had died. For a brief instant, her heart panged; then she remembered that she was reviewing the city guard later that day, and she pushed him from her mind. There was time for grief once the crisis was over. "Unfortunately I must return to the palace immediately. Thank you again for everything you've done, Your Grace. In these trying times, we all turn to the Chantry for guidance."

"That's nice, dear," the Grand Cleric said vaguely. Anora curtsied and left to mount her horse, glad to be leaving.

The long procession back to the palace left her shivering and aching, the cold seeping into her bones. "Erlina, have a bath drawn for me right away," she murmured to her elven handmaiden as they passed under the massive palace gates. "Also, have a pot of tea waiting and send for my furs, I'm absolutely freezing."

"_Bien sûr_, Madame," Erlina murmured. "Euh…Your Majesty?"

"Hm?" Anora looked over to see a woman in armor bow before her.

"Your Majesty," she said, "The Lord Regent requests your presence in the War Chamber immediately."

Sighing internally, Anora nodded her head graciously to the soldier and turned back to her lady. "I wonder what this is about," she remarked, moving through the palace's giant doors. "Every time he summons he thinks it's some sort of emergency."

"Your father highly respects your opinion, my lady," Erlina said.

"Well, I wish he'd respect my personal comfort."

"I will make sure to have the servants put rose petals in your bath," Erlina said. "And lemon in the tea."

Anora smiled. "You're divine, my friend."

The two women parted ways, Erlina towards the palace's private quarters, Anora to the side chambers off the throne room. The King's Council Chambers was a small labyrinth of rooms in the middle of the palace complex. Anora had often gotten lost there during her first few months as queen; now, however, she navigated them easily, arriving at the War Room within minutes.

"Reports have been pouring in from all over the Bannorn, my lord," Arl Rendon Howe was saying. "Our supporters have already begun clashing with those that would oppose your regency. It appears we will have civil war after all."

The teyrn swore loudly. "I thought for sure with Eamon out of the picture, resistance in the Bannorn would collapse. This…complicates matters…" Anora would have liked to have heard more before entering; however, at that moment, her father looked up and saw her standing by the doorway. "Ah, there you are, Anora. We've been waiting for you."

Arl Howe bowed before her as she entered the room. "Your Majesty. You were an inspiration to all Ferelden during the ceremony today."

Anora smiled faintly, trying to hide her disgust. She had never liked Rendon Howe and his sniveling manners; once she had found out that he had been responsible for the death of Eleanor Cousland, one of her dearest friends, she could barely stand to be in his presence. "Not that you were there to notice me, Your Lordship," she replied. "And when my father left the chantry so quickly I almost thought we were under attack."

"Your Majesty would never have been abandoned if that were the case," the arl said. "You have that on my honor."

"How comforting," she said coldly. "That still does not explain my father's haste, though."

"Arl Howe has brought me reports from the Bannorn," Loghain said, hunched over a map of Ferelden. "It appears the nobility is unsatisfied with my regency."

Anora frowned and looked down at the map. "Will it be civil war, then?"

The teyrn nodded slowly. "It seems that way."

"Gwaren, Amaranthine, and Highever will fight for our side," Howe said. "The Central Bannorn, Redcliffe, and the West, however…"

"Will be traitors to the crown," Loghain finished, standing up straight.

"This is ridiculous!" Anora said. "Our main concern is the Blight! It should be every man's priority to unite to defeat this monstrosity!"

"Men will take whatever opportunity they can to seize power, Your Majesty," Howe murmured.

Anora was in no mood to listen to Rendon Howe be ironic. "Thank you for that enlightening assessment of human nature, my lord, but if you don't mind I'd like to discuss strategy with my father." She turned back to Loghain, ignoring the stunned look on Howe's face. "What should we do?"

Loghain was silent for a moment. "What can we do? If they want war, we will give it to them."

It took Anora a moment to process what her father had just said. "Go to—go to war? A civil war? During a Blight?"

"These darkspawn are not as fearsome as Duncan would have had us believe," Loghain said. "If we collect enough of a force we can—"

"A force?" Anora said sharply. "Like the one at Ostagar, you mean? Father, those beasts destroyed one of the largest Fereldan armies in recent history, we're simply not strong enough to face them on our own! After all, the Grey Wardens said—"

"The Grey Wardens betrayed us, Anora," her father replied. "Do not forget that."

"Speaking of which, my lord," Howe said, "there have been other reports saying that some of the Grey Wardens seem to have survived the battle at Ostagar."

"What?!" Anora and Loghain said at the same time.

"Which ones?" Loghain said sharply; Anora was confused by the intensity of his voice.

Howe cleared his throat. "The Templar Knight Alistair, an elven mage…and Lady Rowena Cousland."

Anora started. "Lady Rowena is a Grey Warden? That's wonderful news! We should send for them right away!"

Loghain had become stiff. "Rendon," he growled, "find a way to take care of them. I want them all dead before they can cause us any trouble."

"I'll be sure to do that straight away, my lord—"

"_Now_, Rendon," Loghain thundered; taken aback, the arl bowed and quickly stepped out of the room. Anora turned back to her father.

"What is the meaning of this, Father?" she snapped. "Kill Rowena Cousland? Bryce and Eleanor Cousland were our friends!"

The teyrn looked down at the table. "Lady Rowena is a Grey Warden, Anora."

"And we need the Grey Wardens, Father," she retorted. "We need their help against the darkspawn!"

"They're traitors, Anora," her father said. "They must pay for their crimes."

"Bullocks!" the queen snapped. "I will not sit here while you threaten Ferelden with whatever scheme you have! You may have half the Bannorn convinced by your story, but I know that the Wardens would never have risked a darkspawn victory in a power play!"

"Do not doubt my devotion to Ferelden, Anora." Loghain gave her an ice-cold look, one so hard it almost frightened her. "Have I ever given reason to question me before?"

_Many times_, she thought. "No."

"Then do not do so now." Looking away, the teyrn walked over to his chair and sat down, pulling his map closer to himself. "Now, for the time being, our focus must be controlling the Bannorn. If we tried to fight the darkspawn with the numbers we have now, we'd be crushed…"

Anora bit the inside of her cheek. There was an obvious solution to their lack of manpower; however, she knew already that her father would hate the idea. Still… "There is a way to do both, Father."

"What would that be?" he asked, still staring at the map.

She closed her eyes and said calmly, "I'm sure Empress Celene would be more than willing to—"

"No." His voice startled her. Her eyes fluttered open; what she saw shocked her. Now, all of a sudden, she was afraid. His eyes had never been quite so black with fury.

Yet she would not be cowed. "Orlais has soldiers, Father, far more than we do, and they could be here in weeks if we needed—"

"_NO_!" The teyrn grabbed his daughter's hand and dragged her across the table, pulling her face into his. She tried to keep from gasping in pain; Loghain had never hurt her before, but now his hand was clenching hers so tight it almost made her cry out. "I have fought all my life against those Orlesian bastards! I watched them kill my parents – your grandparents! They raped us, they murdered us, they stole our land – they treated us like _dogs_!" His hand squeezed harder, almost prompting a whimper from Anora; his eyes were wild, almost manic. "I would rather watch this country _burn_ than let those sons of bitches trample us again!"

"Enough!" Anora yanked her hand out from her father's grasp and glared at him. The two panted heavily for a moment; then, Anora asked a question that had been lying on her chest since the news of the battle had first reached Denerim. "Did you kill Cailan, Father?"

The look in Loghain's eyes was all the answer she needed. Before he could say anything, she spun around and stormed out of the room. With that look, her worst fears had been confirmed, and she would not give her father the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

* * *

_Thanks for all the lovely support! Feel free to favorite and review!_


	20. The Tower Besieged

The waters on Lake Calenhad were very still. The boat floating atop them, however, was not.

"Alistair, please stop moving," Leliana said from the floor, face between her knees. "I'm going to be sick again."

He didn't seem to hear her. "Where are we?" he asked the captain, frowning. "We should have been there hours ago!"

"Lake Calenhad's pretty big," the woman said. "We'll get there when we get there."

"If we even get there at all!" Alistair snapped. "We haven't even seen the Circle's beacon yet!"

"The tower ain't moving anytime soon."

"And we aren't either! The Grand Cleric could row faster than you!"

She shot him a black look. "What did you say?"

Eruestan glanced over at the two of them and sighed. Things were getting tense – the boat was too small for them, and no one had slept since the battle the night before. It didn't help that Leliana kept vomiting every fifteen minutes.

"Look, boy," the captain growled, "my men have been rowing for hours now and we're getting tired. If you want to go faster, maybe you and your bloody giant could chip in for a bit."

"Gladly!" Alistair shouted, rocking the boat as he climbed to his feet; Leliana moaned and plunged her head further between her knees. "Come on, Sten!" The Qunari stared at him impassively. "Uh…Sten?"

It was all getting to be a bit much. "Oh, just shut up, Alistair!" Eruestan snapped, glaring at him. "You heard her, we'll get there when we get there – now sit down before Leliana throws up again!"

"Too late," she moaned; the others groaned and shuffled away from her.

Alistair scowled and sat back down. "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing's the matter with me," Eruestan said, looking out on the lake. "There's no need to yell, that's all."

He was lying. Truth be told, he had absolutely no desire to return to the Circle. Even though the others had already discovered what had happened to him, he felt they didn't truly grasp the gravity of what he had done. His betrayal was still sharp in his mind – the idea of looking the First Enchanter in the face and asking for his help made him sick to his stomach.

"Alla," one of the men up front said suddenly, "sun's rising. Take a look that..."

The captain looked out front and frowned. "That's not good…"

Eruestan looked over, confused. The growing sunlight made the surrounding area clear to see – with a pang, he was able to make out the outline of the Circle Tower. Something, however, was off.

"I thought there was supposed to be a beacon," Rowena said from the back.

"There is," he said, suddenly uneasy. The Circle always kept its beacon lit; it served both as a signal to ships on the lake and as a reminder of the Chantry's dominion over the mages. If it had been extinguished, something was not right at the tower.

"What do we do, Alla?" someone asked. "Do we still take them to the island?"

The captain frowned, then shook her head. "No, bring 'em to the mainland."

"What?" Alistair said angrily. "Why? We've wasted enough time already!"

The captain glared at him. "I didn't spend the past three days fucking fighting off the damned undead to be turned into a blighted toad by some pissed-off spellbind, and neither did any of my men! We're dumping you lot on the land and you're going to sit down and shut up about it!"

Defeated, Alistair sat back down and crossed his arms. "Stop smirking, Morrigan."

"I am not," she replied, eyebrow raised.

"Just wanted to make sure." He looked over at Eruestan. "Well, at any rate, welcome home." Leliana retched again; Eruestan couldn't help but share the sentiment.

The boat landed on the shore half an hour later. With a cry, Leliana pushed everyone out of her way and tumbled onto the sand, collapsing on the ground. "Land," she half-sobbed, "dear, sweet, wonderful land!"

Eruestan hopped out behind her and turned to stare at the island across the lake. Looking at it now, he could fully appreciate just how large the Circle Tower was. Never having been allowed outside before, he had only had two chances to get a look at it: the first time he went in, and the last time he went out. Both times he'd hardly felt like sight-seeing. Now, however, even despite his nerves, he couldn't help but be overwhelmed by the splendor of the building.

"Huh," Morrigan said behind him. "'Tis rather fitting."

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" Eruestan said.

"Oh, no, I was referring to the fact that it looks like a giant phallus. Fitting that the Chantry would put their mages here."

Eruestan blinked. "It—it doesn't look like a phallus!"

"Whoa, you can totally see it," Rowena said. "Look, you can trace it with your finger and everything!"

"Put your hand down! _Captain Alla_!" Eruestan shouted, annoyed at how phallus-shaped the Tower actually was. "What's the plan from here?"

"Head down to the dock and let the Templars ferry you across," the woman barked. "We'll be here if you get back."

He frowned. "You mean _when_, right?"

She glanced at the unlit beacon. "Yeah, sure, whatever. Coming back as a toad counts as dead, by the way."

"Thanks," Eruestan muttered. "Come on, let's get moving and figure out what's going on."

"I'm never leaving land again!" Leliana sang happily a few feet away from him, digging her hands in the sand. "I'm getting married to land!"

"Come on, Leli, we're leaving," Rowena said, walking past her.

"That's fine, we're on land!" She jumped to her feet, then froze when she saw where they were headed. "Wh—where are you going?"

"The docks," Eruestan said, pushing ahead. "Keep up."

Leliana's eyes went wide. "No."

"Yes," he said. "Hurry up, if you get in the rowboat right after Sten it won't shake as much at all."

"_No_," she said, throwing herself flat. "I am _not_ getting back into a boat. Leave me here, I will not go any further."

"Leliana, if the Tower's beacon has gone out, that means there's something wrong going on inside," Eruestan said, patience thinning. "We're going to need all the help we can get, and that means we need you." Leliana responded by curling herself into a ball.

Eruestan rubbed his temples. "This is ridiculous."

"There's really only one solution, isn't there?" Alistair said.

"What's that?" The elf looked up to see Alistair, Rowena, and Morrigan all looking at Sten. "Oh."

The giant stared at all of them impassively for a moment, then sighed and bent over, picking up Leliana like a small child.

"No!" she shrieked, writhing to get out of his grasp; with a grunt he threw her over his shoulder. "I am not okay with this!"

"Desperate times, Leli!" Eruestan called back. "Now, let's just—"

"OY!" Someone yelled in front of him; he looked over to see two Templars racing over from the docks. "Where is that giant taking that girl?!"

"To the Tower, hopefully," Rowena said; Eruestan had suddenly gotten tongue-tied. "We have business with the Circle."

One of the Templars snorted. "Should have come a week ago, then. The Tower's closed, we're not letting anyone across."

"_Créateur soit loué!_"

"That's enough, Leliana," Eruestan said, building up courage. "Like my friend said, we have urgent business at the Tower. We need to cross."

"Well, like _my_ friend said, we're not letting anyone ac—wait a minute," the other knight said. "You're that mage that busted out of here a while ago, aren't you?"

Eruestan's stomach churned. "Well, technically _I_ didn't bust out…but, uh, yeah…"

"…but that's beside the point," Rowena said, quickly stepping in. "He's a Grey Warden now – we all are. That's what's brought us here."

The knights snorted. "You're Grey Wardens?" one of them asked. "If that's the case, I'm the Queen of Antiva!"

"You're not very pretty for a queen," Alistair remarked.

"You can't say that to me, I'm a queen!"

"Ok, this is getting out of hand," Rowena said. "These treaties bear the Grey Warden seal, they're more than enough proof that we are who we say we are. In any case, whoever's in charge will be extremely annoyed if they find that you didn't let us across!"

"That's a big 'if' at this point," one of the knights said grimly, examining the treaties.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked. "What's going on in there?"

The Templars exchanged glances. "You'll see soon enough," the other said, handing back the treaties. "Your papers are in order. We'll draw up a boat for you."

"Well done back there," Eruestan murmured to Rowena. "Sorry I wasn't much help…I'm still a little nervous around them."

"I'm just irritated right now, that's all," she said. "Although it's a good thing they caved, I wouldn't have known how to convince them otherwise."

"I would have taken care of that," Sten said.

"By what, brute force?" Alistair said. "You think we really could have taken them?"

The Qunari shook his head. "Bribery is sometimes the preferable solution."

"Bribery?" Rowena laughed. "What could we have given them, autographs on our wanted posters?"

He sighed and pulled something out of his cloak, avoiding Leliana's flailing legs.

The three of them stared at what he was holding in his hand. "Is that…a _cookie_?" Rowena asked. "Where did you find that?"

"A fat child in Redcliffe was eating them," Sten said. "I relieved him of them."

"You stole cookies from a kid?" Alistair asked. "Actually, wait, no, that doesn't surprise me."

"Why, though?" Eruestan asked. "You didn't really think you'd use them as a bribe, did you?"

"Like I said, the child was fat, he shouldn't have been eating them." Sten shifted a little, almost as if he were uncomfortable. "Besides, they looked appealing."

"_You_ like _cookies_?"

"As fascinated as you all are by this conversation, I believe our slackjawed friends have found us our boat," Morrigan said, motioning to the returning Templars. "Shall we make our way to the center of Chantry oppression?"

"What do you mean by 'oppression'?" The Templars were right in front of them.

"Uhhhh…she meant depression!"Alistair said, eyes wide. "It must be so depressing in that tower, huh? What without the beacon and all? Crazy, right?"

"Just get in the boat," Rowena muttered, pushing past the knights, who were now glaring suspiciously at them. The group shuffled into the dinghy; seeming to have accepted her fate, Leliana flung herself down in the center of the boat, eyes glued shut.

The boat ride was short and silent, the morning sun rising overhead. The Tower was soon looming above them. There was something odd about it – it could have been his imagination, but Eruestan almost seemed to sense a strange surge of power emanating from the walls.

Leliana was out of the boat almost before they had time to land it. "I hate _all_ of you," she hissed, sitting down on the ground. "Next time we're going by horse."

"HALT!" someone shouted; they looked up to see a group of Templars running towards them. "Who are you and who sent you across?"

"Not this again," Rowena muttered, walking up to them. "We're Grey Wardens, we have business with the Circle."

The knights looked stunned. "Grey Wardens?" one of them asked, a little stupidly. "Are you sure? I thought you all died at Osta—"

"Yes, yes, at Ostagar, we know, it's a huge miracle," she said, pushing past while craning her neck up towards the building. "Now where's the front door? It has to be pretty big…"

"It is pretty bi—wait, no, you can't just walk through us!" one of the guards said angrily. "We have a situation on our hands! No one's allowed in the Tower!"

"That's cute," she said. "Is it around the corner? I can't quite…see…"

"OY!" As Rowena pushed forward, one of the Templars drew his sword; barking loudly, Cormac threw himself between the knight and his mistress as everyone on both sides else drew their weapons. Heart beating wildly, Eruestan felt a sense of panic rise in his stomach as the two groups stared each other down. He needed to stop this before any fighting started – but how? What could he say?

"You there! What's going on?" a familiar voice cut sharply through the air. Much to Eruestan's surprise, Greagoir appeared from around the corner, accompanied by a small squadron of Templars. The Knight Commander had seen better days; the right side of his face bore a nasty burn and his arm was laying in a sling. Even still, Eruestan had never been happier to see him in his life.

"Knight Commander!" one of the Templars shouted, glaring at the Wardens. "These people claim to be Grey Wardens!"

"Grey Wardens?" Greagoir said, shocked; he began scanning the group until he locked eyes with Eruestan. The two stared at each other for a moment. "I'm never going to get rid of you, am I?" he finally sighed.

"It's nice to see you too, Knight Commander," Eruestan said, eyes lowered.

The knight sniffed. "I suppose these are your companions?"

"Yes," Rowena said, teeth gritted, still glaring at the Templar who had cut her off. "And before we continue, perhaps you could have your men lower their weapons?"

Greagoir waved his hand irritably. "Yes, yes, at ease men, for Maker's sake." The Templars sheathed their swords, still glaring at the Wardens. "Now, Eruestan, do you have real business with the Circle, or are you just back to torment me? Because I'm afraid we've got a bit of situation on our hands."

Eruestan felt his ears blush; flustered, he started to stammer something out before catching himself. Taking a breath, he collected his thoughts and said, "We've come to speak to Irving and the mages. There's been a possession at Redcliffe Castle and we need their help immediately. Beyond that, we have these treaties that obligate the Circle to help the Grey Wardens during a Blight. We want them to prepare to help us as soon as they can."

Greagoir waved him off. "I don't care how many papers you have, the Circle is in no shape to help you now."

"Oh," he said meekly. "All right, then, in that case we'll just—"

"Now wait just a second," Rowena interrupted, crossing her arms. "What is going on here? Why is the beacon out? Why have you cut off all access from the shore? And why are all the Templars outside of the Tower?"

The Knight Commander hesitated. "As I've said, we…we have an…incident on our hands."

"This sounds promising," Morrigan muttered.

"Incident?" Rowena asked, eyes narrowed. "What kind of incident?"

To Eruestan's surprise, Greagoir looked both embarrassed and frightened, two emotions he'd never known the Knight Commander to have. "I'm afraid that my men and I have lost control of the Tower. To demons."

That took a moment to sink in. "You've _got_ to be kidding me."

"What?" Rowena cried, shooting a look at Alistair. "What do you mean, demons are in control? How could this happen?"

"We don't know," Greagoir said, crossing his arms. "The attacks started four nights ago. I'd just finished my patrols when there was a large burst of energy from somewhere in the building. A few minutes later, screams were echoing through the Tower, and before anyone could do anything the place was swarming with abominations. My men tried to fight them off, but I quickly realized that we wouldn't be able to resist. At that point I made the decision to retreat from the Tower and had my men regroup here."

Eruestan's heart stopped. "What? You can't do that! You have a responsibility to protect the mages!"

"And right now that is a duty that I can't fulfill!" Greagoir snapped. "As I said, the situation is beyond my control. Furthermore, I have a responsibility to protect the rest of the world _from_ the mages, too. My job now is to keep them contained until the Right of Annulment arrives from Denerim."

"The Right of Annulment?" Rowena asked, frowning.

Greagoir looked grim. "It's an act from the Chantry permitting the total destruction of the Circle. Once we have it, along with reinforcements, we'll be able to cleanse the Tower and put an end to this threat."

Eruestan felt as though his heart had stopped beating. Destroying the Circle…out of nowhere he saw hundreds of faces, faces of the people he had grown up with. Niall, Eowyn, Inara, Serra, Leorah, Irving... "You can't just let them die!" he said, face white.

"Those mages are already dead," Greagoir replied. "You are in no position to question my authority."

Eruestan dropped his head, trying to ignore the blood rushing to his cheeks. Greagoir was right, after all.

Rowena, however, didn't seem to agree. "Actually, we are in such a position," she snapped. "As Grey Wardens, it's our responsibility to recruit an army against the darkspawn, and these treaties obligate as many Circle mages as possible to join our cause."

"In case you haven't noticed, that's not a lot of mages," the Knight Commander replied tersely. "If I can't secure this Tower, all of Ferelden is in danger."

"Well, in case _you_ haven't noticed, all of Ferelden already is in danger!" Rowena shot back. "And if we can't get the mages, the entire world could be wiped out by the Blight!"

"So what do you propose we do, Warden?" Greagoir said, clearly displeased with being challenged. "Blast down the doors and throw ourselves into a suicidal charge? I will not risk my men in such a stupid act."

"You won't have to," Rowena said, crossing her arms. "We'll do it."

Everyone turned to stare at her. "We will?" Alistair squeaked.

She nodded, still glaring at the commander. "It's our mission, not theirs. If these cowards won't risk their lives, then we will."

"What a noble sacrifice," Greagoir sneered. "One that may prove largely futile. There can't be very many uncorrupted mages left in the tower; is their presence on the battlefield worth your lives as the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden?"

"Yeah, seriously, is it?" Alistair asked.

"It is," she said firmly. "I don't know much about the Circle, but I bet if anyone's survived this, it'll be the high-ranking mages. Those are the people we need make a real difference on the battlefield. We can save them, and we have to!"

The Knight Commander frowned, but began slowly nodding. "I have to admit, your proposition is…appealing…"

"It is?" Alistair said hopelessly.

"It is," the knight said. "As surprising as it may be to hear, I have no desire to kill innocent mages. You will have my permission to enter the Tower if you so wish."

Rowena turned to the rest of the party. "I'm not going to volunteer anyone," she said. "You don't have to follow me if you don't want to. But so long as there are innocent people who need my help, I'm going to fight to save them."

"I'll join you," Eruestan said quietly; she nodded, perhaps a little stiffly. "The Tower's my home, I won't let the people I know die in it."

"And I'll come along, too," Alistair said, albeit a little less enthusiastically. "My Templar training might come in handy – besides, we all have to die at some point, right?"

"As long as we stay out of the water, I shall come, too," Leliana said, rising to her feet. "I've always wanted to see the inside of a Circle, anyways!"

"Like most of our plans, it is foolish," Sten said. "But as I have sworn to aide you, I shall fight as well."

Rowena turned to Morrigan, who had remained silent. "What about you?"

"We have a rather suicidal tendency to help those who cannot help themselves, do we not?" she snapped. "If these mages cannot fight off this threat themselves, why should we bother trying to save them? What use could they be to us on the battlefield?"

"You don't have to help," she replied. "You're more than entitled to stay out here with the Templars."

"Oh no, I shall join you," she said, looking back at her, "if only to see the conditions the Chantry forces these mages to live in. Know, though, that your bleeding heart will be your ruin."

She rolled her eyes and turned back to Greagoir. "So there you go," she said. "Send us in, unless you're too afraid to."

"Very well," the knight said. "There are, however, two conditions."

"Of course there are," Rowena sighed. "What are they?"

"When you enter the Tower, we'll seal the doors shut behind you," he said. "The only way they'll be opened again is if Irving himself asks me to. No matter how many mages you find, if Irving is dead I will judge the situation too dangerous and will be forced to kill anyone that remains inside the Tower, including you. Thus, the First Enchanter _must_ be present in order for me to consider the mission complete."

"That's a bit excessive," Rowena said, frowning.

"He's right, though," Eruestan said. "If Irving's been killed, there's no way the others have survived this long. We accept."

"Very well," Greagoir said. "Next, however, you must cleanse the Tower of any Abominations and find the First Enchanter before nightfall."

"_Nightfall_?" Alistair said in horror. "What do you mean, before nightfall?"

"The Right of Annulment will arrive at any point today," he replied. "Once we have it, we cannot wait too long to secure the Circle. If you haven't found Irving by sunset, I'll be forced to act."

"'Forced'," Morrigan scoffed.

"Yes, forced," the knight said coldly. "Regardless of what you think, those are my conditions. Do you still accept?"

"Do we have a choice?" Rowena asked. "We'll do it."

"Very well, then. Men, lead the Grey Wardens to the Tower entrance and unseal the doors. Close them the instant they enter, and if anything should try to escape, kill without hesitation." The Templars nodded. "Good luck, Wardens. May the Maker watch over you."

The party walked in silence towards the massive doors leading into the tower. "You're all mental, going in there by yourself," one of the Templars muttered. "Them Abominations nearly tore us to shreds."

"We'll manage," Eruestan said distractedly, balking at the task before them.

"You think you're better than us, mage?" one of the knights said, glaring at him.

"W-what? N-no, I meant—"

"He sure as hell did!" Rowena snapped. "And you'll see when we find the First Enchanter and finish your job for you! Now go do something for once and open up these doors!"

"Maker, lady, it's your funeral," he said. "I wouldn't be so excited to get moving." With a shrug, he and the other Templars moved on to the doors, giving a signal to have them opened.

"You have to stop letting these guys push you around, Eruestan," Rowena muttered as they waited. "You're a Grey Warden now, for Maker's sake, it's time to start acting like one."

This cut him deeply. "The same goes for you, Rowena," he replied, ears flushing. "You can't just jump down everyone's throat until they do what you want them to."

She raised an eyebrow. "It's worked out well for me so far."

"Just because everyone bowed down to Lady Rowena at Highever doesn't mean you get to order around everyone you meet!"

"I do _not_ order around everyone I meet!" she hissed. "And what do you want me to do, lie down and let everybody walk all over me like you?"

"What?! I don't—"

"Um…guys?" Alistair whispered, gently pulling them apart. "The doors are open and I think they're ready for us."

"Thank you, Alistair," Eruestan said, breaking away from Rowena's furious stare. "Everyone, go ahead of me – I'd hate for anyone to trip since I'm always letting you walk over me."

"Go in front of me, too!" Rowena snapped. "Otherwise you'll be too busy bowing to me to even enter the building!"

"You are both idiots," Morrigan said icily, leading the rest of the group into the Tower. Shooting daggers at each other, Rowena and Eruestan entered behind them.

"Whoa," Alistair breathed. "It's huge."

A chill went down Eruestan's spine. They were in the giant entrance hall, only a few feet away from where Jowan had made his escape. This had been his last view of the Tower; despite everything that had happened, not much seemed changed. True, there was more dirt that usual on the ground as a result of the Templars' exit, but beyond that the tower was remarkably quiet – almost disturbingly, in fact. The strange surge of power he had felt earlier was stronger now; it was now making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"Do you feel that?" he asked Morrigan.

She nodded. "The Veil has been torn here. It would behoove us to be prudent."

"Eruestan," Alistair said, tearing his eyes away from the size of the room, "What exactly are we facing here? Is it just going to be another situation like with Connor? I mean, they're all a question of demonic possession, right?"

Eruestan sighed. "You know all the power Connor has? Manipulating other people, telekinesis, all that?" His friend nodded. "Well, imagine that, but paired with a fully trained mage with an unlimited source of energy. And then multiply that by the hundreds of mages within the Tower."

"Oh, good," Alistair said, eyes wide. "Nothing too bad, then.'

"Do we have any advantages?" Leliana asked, frowning.

He shrugged. "Depending on the strength of the demon, the target might have been driven insane, which will actually make them easier to fight against. Beyond that, I'm not sure. Abominations can do a lot of damage, one of them alone is a Templar's worst nightmare."

"Fine by me," Rowena said, crossing her arms. "Lead the way, Eruestan – not that I'm _ordering_ you, of course…"

"Good!" he snapped back. "Otherwise I'd just be letting you boss me around, huh?" She crossed her arms and turned away; fuming, he stormed forward and led the group through the nearest door.

The party walked down the long, dimly lit hallway, their steps echoing off the high ceilings. As usual, a draft was blowing in from somewhere; Eruestan suddenly missed his thick mage robes.

"You grew up here?" Leliana asked, looking around the room. "That can't have been much fun…"

"The Chantry's less concerned with 'fun' and more concerned with 'keep them from killing each other'," Eruestan replied. There was a dull thud from somewhere up above that shook the entire tower.

"This is what happens when you give mages freedom," Sten said. "The power corrupts them, and they cannot resist the forces pursuing them."

"What do you mean, 'freedom'?" Morrigan asked. "These mages are like little birds, trapped in a stone cage."

"Under the Qun, we treat the _Saarebas_ like the dangerous things they are. They are on leashes, under careful watch of their keeper. The particularly threatening ones have their tongues cut out and their lips sewn shut. This keeps them from harming the innocent."

Eruestan felt sick. "That's horrible, Sten."

"Magic can do far worse," Sten replied. "In those cases, precaution is advised."

"That is what you call precaution?" Morrigan said. "In that case, I imagine you've wished my lips sewn shut weeks ago."

"That's probably true," Alistair said, "but in his defense, I kind of do, too, now that I know it's an option."

"I hate you, Alistair."

"Play nicely, everyone," Eruestan said, walking through a door. "No one's getting their lips sewn—oh!"

His heart stopped for a moment. They had just walked into the apprentice quarters.

"Aw, you guys had bunk beds?" Alistair asked. "No way!"

Everything was feeling very surreal for Eruestan. Almost as if in a dream, he walked over to the bunk that had been his home for the past thirteen years. To his surprise, it seemed as though someone new had already been moved in – a toy rabbit had been left under a pillow, while small boots peeked out from under the bed.

"Was this yours?" someone asked behind him; he turned around to see Morrigan standing behind him.

He nodded. "They assigned it to me when I was five…it's the only bed I've ever had. It still feels like it's mine…" He noticed a strange look on her face. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she said quickly. "'Tis…odd, that is all. To think that I could have been raised in this room as well, under the eyes of your Templars."

He laughed. "You'd have put them through hell, I bet."

"I doubt I would have lasted long in the Circle if that were true," she said.

Eruestan shrugged. "Working with the Templars is a big part of leadership in the Circle. People that learn how to skillfully deal with them can earn a lot of power here."

She scoffed. "What real power could they have? Even I know the Chantry controls every decision made in this tower."

"That's not true," he replied, frowning. "The First Enchanter is allowed to make a lot of choices without Chantry approval."

"And if it goes against Chantry will? Are the priests so lenient then?"

"The First Enchanter rarely contradicts anything the Chantry—"

Morrigan smiled, a little coldly. "And why is that? Does he agree with Chantry teachings on principle, or does he do it out of fear? If this is the freedom all you Circle mages think you have, things are far worse than I imagined."

Eruestan started to say something; however, at that moment there was a loud shriek from a nearby room.

"Where did that come from?" Alistair said, drawing his sword.

"There's a nursery for the younger apprentices at the end of the hall," Eruestan said, heart sinking. "I…I think it came from there."

The group exchanged a brief, grim look. "Come on!" Rowena shouted, drawing her own sword. "Eruestan, lead the way!"

They raced out of the room. There were more screams filling the hallway now, along with a strange, warping sound that Eruestan couldn't identify. Preparing for the worst, Eruestan burst open the door at the end and stopped short.

For an instant, he had no idea what to make of what he saw. Huddled against a back corner was a large group of children, protected by a group of older apprentices. In the middle of the room, two mages attended to a fallen older woman, vainly casting weak healing spells. At the far end of the room, another cluster of mages was struggling to maintain a magical barrier that was keeping…_something_ out, Eruestan couldn't quite see what.

"H-hold the b-barrier!" one of the mages shouted through clenched teeth, his arms visibly shaking. "If it b-breaks through…"

There was a horrible keening sound as the barrier was broken by a surge of power that blasted the mages back. As the energy faded, Eruestan was still unsure of what exactly he was seeing. It was vaguely like a man, yet one who seemed to be composed entirely of flame. His mind flashed back to the Rage demon he had fought in the Fade; horrified, he prepared to cast a frost spell…only to watch the elderly mage who had been on the floor jump in front of the demon and, with a swipe of her staff, dissipate it into the air.

The mage stood in front of the fading clouds of magical energy for a moment, then collapsed to her knees, panting.

"Wynne!" one of the mages shouted, racing to her. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she gasped. "Please, just give me some air. Attend to the children and reconstruct that barrier!"

A wave of relief washed over Eruestan. He recognized Wynne from Ostagar. If an enchanter was still alive, Irving might still survive. "What's going on here?" he said, approaching the mage. "Are you all right?"

She started and turned to look at him. "What in the name of the Maker—oh!" There were gasps and cries of recognition throughout the room; Eruestan saw Inara and Serra whisper furiously to each other, looking at him with shining eyes. Wynne stared for a moment, then slowly rose to her feet. "Thank the Maker," she whispered. "Eruestan –you've returned to save us."

"We'll try to, at least," Rowena said, sheathing her sword. "Are you injured?"

"Just low on energy, that's all." Wynne bowed her head. "Forgive me, the last time we met I don't believe I had the chance to learn your names – in any case, you seem to have gained more followers since Ostagar. Again, I am Enchanter Wynne."

"I can handle this," Alistair said, stepping forward. "My name is Alistair, Wynne. Over here is Lady Rowena Cousland – well, she's not a lady anymore, technically speaking, since she's a Grey Warden now, but it feels weird not calling a Cousland a 'lady', plus she's a really good fighter, so there you go…" He coughed ." Uh…this is Morrigan, evil incarnate…Leliana, slightly manic, probably trustworthy…Sten, don't know much about him, doesn't talk, yes, he always looks that scary…Cormac, a dog…and then Eruestan, but it looks like you already knew him so I didn't really need to introduce him again."

Wynne raised an eyebrow. "You may want to hire a new spokesperson."

"We've been looking into it," Eruestan said. "But Enchanter, what's been going on here? How did all of you survive?"

"First of all, call me Wynne," she said. "This is no time for silly titles. And to answer your question, all of us managed to survive this long out of pure luck. The night of the outbreak, I was treating an ill apprentice when we heard the fighting break out. I got as many as I could in into this room, then constructed the barrier before anything else could slip through."

"How many mages were left in the tower?" Rowena asked.

Wynne shook her head. "Hundreds of mages, all the other enchanters, the Tranquil, and Irving himself. What we have here is a small fraction of those we could have saved."

"The Tranquil?" Leliana asked. "What do you mean?"

"We can explain later," Eruestan said. "But is everyone all right? Should we send for help?"

Wynne shook her head. "The children are tired and frightened, but none of them are harmed – there are food stores in the basement, which is how we've been able to last for so long. There's no need for us to run – besides, the Templars wouldn't let us out even if we tried."

"We've spoken with Greagoir," Eruestan said. "He's allowing us to try and free you from the tower, provided we find Irving alive—he believes that if the First Enchanter has been killed, there's no hope left for the Circle."

Wynne smiled. "He's probably right – although I imagine he's also terrified of the thought of living without Irving. They've been butting heads for so long now they're practically married. But if anyone could survive this, it's Irving."

"There's a catch, though," Alistair said. "We only have until sunset before that Greagoir invokes the Rights…the Rights of…"

Wynne's face became grim. "Ah. The Right of Annulment."

"Yeah, that's it," he said. "Still not quite sure what it means, though."

"It's an ancient right that permits the Templars to kill every mage within the Circle by whatever means necessary," Wynne said. "The brutality of it means it isn't often invoked—but the Knight Commander's right. If we can't find Irving by then, the Circle is lost."

Someone snorted. "And here I thought you Circle mages were unwilling victims of the Chantry," Morrigan said. "Yet even when they threaten your lives, you still support them. You almost deserve the fate that awaits."

Wynne frowned. "Well. You're very rude."

"I tried to warn you," Alistair said.

"She has a point," Sten grumbled. "Why save these people? If they can't defend themselves against whatever's happened here, what use will they be to us against the Blight? All they represent is a risk – if we save them, they might very well turn on us later on. We should either abandon these men and women to their fates or exterminate them and remove the threat."

"We're not doing that," Rowena said. "The Circle needs our help – what if we abandoned the villagers at Redcliffe? Everyone would have died!"

"The villagers of Redcliffe were not walking bomb," Sten said. "The mages in here are safer to us dead than they are alive."

"I'm no fan of Abominations," Alistair said cautiously, "but if we want to solve the problems we've already taken on, we need the mages. Without their help, there's no way to heal Arl Eamon without sacrificing someone."

"So what? Sacrificing one for the benefit of the world? Worse deals have been made." Sten shook his head. "A _Saarebas_ is a danger to everyone around him, it is smartest to end their suffering when the worst happens."

"I'm not sure where this is heading," Wynne said, "but if you act against us, I will stand against you. I will not let you hurt these children."

"There's no need for that," Eruestan said, stepping before her. "We'll fight for the Circle." Sten scoffed. "What?" he said. "Alistair's right, there's no other way to save Arl Eamon without using blood magic, and I'm not doing that. We'll find the First Enchanter, end whatever's going on here, and save the Arl. Is there a problem with that?" The Qunari stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. "Good." He glanced over at Rowena, who turned away.

Wynne relaxed. "Excellent. Wardens, if we're going to save Irving, we're going to have to be on our guard at all times. Abominations have all the power of a mage with all the deceit of a demon – they're powerful foes, and we need to be careful."

"We?" Rowena asked.

Wynne nodded. "I'm coming with you."

"Wynne!" one of the mages said. "Are you sure you're strong enough?"

"Strong enough to save the Circle?" she asked. "Yes. I know every corner of this tower – what's more, I'm rather good at magic, too. I will fight with you – provided, of course, you'll have me."

Eruestan and Alistair exchanged a look; Rowena didn't glance over. "We'll take you," Eruestan said finally. "It'd be an honor, Wynne."

"You're too kind." She brushed a strand of hair back. "Jaspar, Korinne, come here. I'll teach you how to maintain the barrier while we're gone."

As the three mages walked over to the doorway, someone tugged on Eruestan's sleeve. "Eruestan!" Inara whispered, her face beaming. "You're alive! We were convinced you died down south!"

"What's it like out there?" Serra asked. "What's it like being a Grey Warden? Is it exciting?"

"That's one word for it," Eruestan said; they, however, didn't seem to be paying much attention.

"You saw darkspawn? What do they look like?"

"Have you met any other mages? I bet they taught you really powerful stuff."

"Your friends are so scary! I can't believe you're fighting with a _Qunari_!"

"Hopefully he'll help us," Serra remarked. "You have Wynne and all that, but still…"

Eruestan frowned. "Why? What's wrong with Wynne?"

The two apprentices exchanged a look. "Nothing, really," Inara said. "She's very powerful and knows a lot about healing and barriers…but…"

"When you walked in, she had just collapsed," Serra said. "No warning or anything, just…fell over. The barrier almost went with her, if the others hadn't kept it up…"

"She should be fine," Inara said, noticing Eruestan's worried look. "Just be careful is all we're saying."

He nodded and looked over; Wynne had finished teaching the other mages her technique. "We should go soon," she said. "Our time is limited."

"Will everyone here be safe once we leave?" Eruestan asked.

She nodded. "Korinne and Jaspar will teach the others how to keep the barrier constructed—besides, so long as we manage to kill every creature we meet on our way through the tower, there won't be anything to come after them. Let's go now, though."

The group approached the doorway. "Be careful, Wynne," the mage named Korinne said, eyebrows furrowed. "Are you sure you even need to do this? The Wardens can handle this."

"At the very least, pace yourself and let the Wardens do most of the fighting," Jaspar said. "There's no need to get yourself killed."

"Oh, honestly, you two," she said. "I got a little faint, I'm not dying. Watch over the children, make sure they keep up with their lessons to distract them, and, if the worst comes…well, make the end easy for them." She put a hand on their shoulders. "I have faith in both of you. I'll be back soon."

Neither looked particularly reassured. "Andraste preserve you, Wardens," Korinne said half-heartedly.

"Like she's even listening at this point," Rowena said. "Let's move out."

The party walked through the doorway; after everyone had stepped through, the mages reconstructed the magical barrier behind them, sending a pulse of energy into the room. "Careful now," Wynne whispered. "The energy will attract anything near us—get ready to fight."

Eruestan nodded; then, at the end of the hallway, there was a terrible roar. He looked over and froze in fear. Racing towards them was a horrifying monster, as tall as Sten and horribly disfigured. Bones jutted out of its agonized face; there were deep gouge marks on its cheeks, as if it had tried to claw out its own eyes. Thrusting out a twisted hand, the beast threw a giant ball of flame at the party. Eruestan flinched instinctively; Wynne, however, stepped forward and threw up a magical barrier, striking her staff on the ground. The fireball collided explosively with the barrier, shaking the walls; as the dust cleared and the barrier collapsed, Leliana shot three arrows in quick succession into the monster's head. With a shriek, it fell to the floor.

"Well, that was awful," Alistair said, stepping forward; Wynne pushed him back sharply and slammed her staff once more.

An instant later, the abomination's body exploded in a giant fireball, crashing against Wynne's barrier with a force stronger than the creature's attack.

Wynne looked remarkably paler when the dust settled a second time. "They always do that," she said. "When you separate the spirits from living vessels, the rift in the Fade creates a giant explosion."

Eruestan thought of what Inara and Serra had said. "How do you construct those barriers? Morrigan and I should try to learn how."

Wynne nodded, color slowly returning. "Here, it's fairly simple…"

* * *

As the mages began practicing the spell, Rowena crouched down to examine the scorch marks left behind by the abomination. She had forgotten her fight with Eruestan during the attack; hearing him speak, however, had reminded her. Still offended by what he had said, she decided it was better to separate herself rather than keep the conflict going. There was plenty of time to continue once things stopped trying to kill them. _Wonder when that will be…_

Leliana crouched down beside her. "Incredible," she murmured. "They tell many stories of Abominations in Orlais, but I had no idea they were so…_ugly_."

"I saw a few drawings during my Templar training," Alistair said, a slight hint of disgust in his voice. "Not that they exactly did them justice."

"Well, hopefully we won't let them get too close in the future," Rowena said. "I wish I could throw up those barriers, too – every mage I've fought against so far has been too powerful to fight on my own. I really should learn how to combat them."

"You know, I should teach you some of my Templar tricks," Alistair said. "I mean, I never got full training, and without lyrium the techniques are a lot weaker than they are normally, but it's an extra line of defense against magic, especially blood magic."

She smiled up at him. "I'd like that. Would have come in handy here…but there's plenty of time to practice later."

He smiled back. "Yeah, of course. My pleasure."

Leliana giggled and rose to her feet. "Maker's breath, you two are incorrigible," she said, winking at Rowena.

The two blushed and looked away as the mages walked over. "I think we've got it," Eruestan said. "What did we miss?"

"Evidently we're incorrigible," Rowena said, standing up.

"Nothing new there," he said coolly. "Shall we?"

Stung, Rowena pushed ahead into the next room, letting Wynne lead the way. They began walking through a series of large classrooms. "We were able to evacuate most of the people on this floor," Wynne said. "There shouldn't be any fighting until we start to ascend."

Rowena's eyes started to wander. Imposing as it was, the tower was beautiful as well. The rooms had high ceilings and all the windows were fitted with stained glass, giving a peaceful air to the whole building – at least, as peaceful an air as possible, given the circumstances.

The party turned up a flight of stairs. Now the air was tenser. There were distant shrieks, howls, and explosions, coupled with a horrible smell of decay. Cormac started growling softly.

Suddenly, Wynne stopped. "Who's there?" she called out, brandishing her staff. "Show yourself!"

A figure started moving in the shadows. "There is no need to be alarmed," someone said in a monotone. "It is I, Owain."

Rowena stepped forward to attack – the voice was so obviously non-human that it couldn't be anything other than a demon. Wynne, however, grabbed her arm.

"Stop!" she said, holding her back. "It's just Owain, our quartermaster!"

"Forgive me if I startled you," he said, emerging from the shadows; Rowena noticed a bright golden sun tattooed on his forehead. "With all the fighting, I was not sure where to go, so I decided to stay in the storeroom."

"What's the matter with his voice?" Rowena asked. "Is he possessed?"

"No," Wynne said sadly. "Quite the opposite, in fact." In response to her confused look, she sighed and said, "The Rite of Tranquility is an ancient ceremony that is designed to protect mages too frightened of their magic from the threat of possession. The mage in question is put through a series of highly secretive spells that severs his or her connection to the Fade. In doing so, the subject loses their magic and all possible attraction to demons. At the same time, they can no longer dream or experience human emotion."

There was a brief silence. "That is disgusting," Leliana said.

Wynne sighed again. "And yet for some, it is relief. Magic can be a great burden; for those of lesser will, every night turns into a battle against some demon trying to possess them through their dreams."

"Circle mages," Morrigan hissed. "You fear possession above all else, and yet I have practiced magic beyond the watch of your Templars all my life, and I have never been remotely in danger."

"I haven't known you for long, Morrigan," Wynne said, a little briskly, "but I imagine that you have a stronger will than most. For others who are not so fortunate, the Rite of Tranquility is a great mercy."

"Unless it's used as punishment," Eruestan said quietly.

A chill went down Rowena's spine. "This can be forced on people?"

"If the Templars view it necessary, yes." Wynne paused. "It is rare, true, but I agree – it is a terrible fate to suffer involuntarily."

Rowena looked back at Owain, whose face was blank as he heard them speak. She shivered and suddenly wondered if maybe there was a reason Eruestan was so cowed by the Templars.

"What happened to you, Owain?" Wynne asked. "How have you been holding out?"

"The supply room has food," Owain said. "I have been eating that, and when I am tired I sleep. I try to make as little noise as possible, for I do not want to attract any of the demons. I do not know why, but I would not like to die."

"You should have come down to us!" Wynne said. "We would have protected you!"

"Niall said the same thing to me when he came to get the Litany of Adralla," Owain said. "As I told him, I was unable to leave this room without attracting attention."

"Niall took the Litany of Adralla?" Wynne asked in surprise. "Is there blood magic going on here?"

"I cannot say," Owain said. "Niall seemed to think so. He promised to return the Litany once he had finished with it. I would like to have it back soon."

"I'm sure he'll be back before long," Wynne said. "Are you safe here, Owain? Do you want us to escort you downstairs?"

"I am content here," he said. "The demons will not touch me. I wish you well."

"The same to you, Owain." The group left him to retreat back into his room. "This isn't good," Wynne said, biting her lip. "If they're using blood magic, every mage we come across could be just as dangerous as any demon."

"I might be able to help there," Alistair said. "I trained as a Templar before joining the Order, I should be able to resist most blood magic."

"Really?" she said. "That's very helpful. Is there anything else about you I should know?"

He blushed. "Uh…no…not really, nope."

There was a loud scream from a room right near them. Blasting open the door, the group stopped and watched in horror as a group of Abominations fell onto a mage, tearing him to pieces.

"Maker preserve us," Leliana whispered, firing another arrow into an Abomination's head. The remaining three turned around and roared, pouncing towards them. Eruestan blocked their fireballs with a magical shield, albeit one weaker than Wynne's. As the spell ended, Rowena side-stepped one of the creature's attacks and cut it in two as Leliana took down a third with another arrow. Sten quickly bashed the last Abomination's head in with his greatsword; then all three of them flinched as Wynne threw up another barrier, containing the massive explosions that heralded each Abomination's death.

"Maker, that's awful," Alistair said in disgust, looking down at the dismembered mage. "Do they have to be so violent?"

"Well, they are called Abominations," Eruestan said. "Wait, what was that?"

There had been rustling from a nearby armoire. Steeling herself, Rowena brandished her sword and motioned for Sten and Alistair to open the door. Throwing it open, she yelled and started to swing…only to stop when a young woman fell out.

"Please don't!" she screamed. "I'm not one of them!"

"Careful!" Wynne said. "She could still be possessed."

"I'm not, I swear!" the mage cried. "My name's Solona, I'm a Harrowed mage, I'm originally from Gwaren…and I'm a blood mage!"

"Hold your weapons," Wynne said sharply. "If she's telling us that, she's not a threat."

"Not a threat?" Alistair said. "She just admitted to being a blood mage!"

"I'm not a bad one!" the mage said, trembling. "I only did it because Uldred said we needed to!"

"Uldred?" Wynne said. "He's behind this?"

"He's been building support in the tower for years," Solona said. "You know how passionate he is about mage freedom – I didn't think he actually meant to use his blood magic, I thought he just wanted it as safety, or even leverage…"

"Uldred," Wynne said, shaking her head. "Holy Andraste…"

"Who's Uldred?" Rowena asked. "And why is he important?"

"Uldred is one of my fellow senior enchanters," Wynne said. "He was also a survivor of Ostagar. He managed to return to the tower before me and used that time to try to convince Irving to throw the Circle's support to Teyrn Loghain."

"I already hate him," Alistair said darkly.

"I think the battle changed him. He'd always been an advocate for greater mage freedoms, but there was a real mania in him after he returned. He said Loghain was the only solution to ending the Blight, and that he would grant the Circle more power than the Chantry would ever give us." She smiled. "I think I threw a wrench in that, though. Once I told the enchanters of Loghain's treachery, Uldred lost all support in the tower—or, at least, I thought he did…"

"He was furious," Solona said. "He said that because of you, we'd all die, that we needed to take a stand. And we believed him…" She shivered. "The night this all started, Uldred had us confront Irving and a group of other enchanters in a corridor. He yelled at Irving and told him that he was ruining our only chance at survival. Irving told him to calm down and go to his office, but it was too late by then. Uldred, he…he pulled out a knife and u-used blood magic to—to summon a Pride demon…"

Eruestan stared at Solona in horror. "A Pride demon? Are you sure?"

She nodded. "There was a flash of light and for a moment, I could see it perfectly—it looks just like what's written down in books. Then it walked over to Uldred and just disappeared inside of him. That's when the attacks started."

"Was Irving injured?" Wynne asked in alarm.

She shook her head. "He tried casting a spell at Uldred, but the demon blocked it. By that time half of us had already been possessed…once Irving saw that, he grabbed as many people as he could and vanished down the hallway. I don't know what happened to him after that."

"What did you do?" Eruestan asked.

"Honestly? I ran. I had no idea that was what Uldred had in mind, and no amount of freedom is worth being taken over by a Pride demon. I know some of the others have been fighting on the fourth floor, but I've been trying to find a way out this whole time." She suddenly stopped and stared at them in apprehension. "I guess that brings me here."

"What do we do now?" Alistair asked.

"Please, have mercy," she said, falling on her knees. "I never meant to harm anyone, I just thought it was a chance at freedom. Please, spare me."

Eruestan stared at her for a few seconds. "Send her downstairs."

"What?" Alistair turned to him. "Eruestan, she's a blood mage – the worst kind of maleficar. She's a threat to everyone in this tower."

"I know about maleficar, Alistair," Eruestan snapped. "You don't grow up here not learning about them. But we didn't come to kill mages, we came to recruit them. With half the Circle dead or possessed, we can't afford to be picky. We send her downstairs, and we have her fight for us." Alistair frowned, but didn't say anything.

Eruestan looked down at the mage. "Did Irving see you when Uldred attacked?"

She bit her lip. "I…I don't think so. The corridor was dark and there was so much going on, I doubt he noticed."

"No one else will be able to identify you, then," he said. "What do you think, Wynne?"

She thought for a moment. "At this point, it hardly matters who's a maleficar and who isn't. Take the south stairs down to the apprentice quarters and tell them I sent you; if you value your life, don't tell them about your blood magic."

"Thank you, Enchanter," Solona said, rising to her feet. "All of you, thank you! Find Uldred and end this!"

As Solona disappeared into the dark, Eruestan turned to Wynne. "If what she said is true, we're in more danger than anyone could have guessed. I don't know if we'll be able to fight off a Pride Abomination."

"What do you want us to do?" Wynne asked softly. "Go back? The only way we survive is to try and fight Uldred. Our best chance is to find Niall and the Litany – if we can use it to end the blood magic, we'll be protected from anything even a Pride demon can throw at us."

"Then let's find this Niall," Rowena said. "Solona said there's been fighting on the fourth floor—I bet we'll find this Niall there."

The party started moving through the rest of the tower. As they climbed to the fourth floor, signs of the terrible struggle that had gone on there became more and more visible. Bodies littered the floor, while blood and scorch marks were splayed against the walls. Everywhere, books and furniture lay in ruins, either broken or torn to pieces. Each room held more and more Abominations, all of whom did more and more damage as they attacked and died.

"This is sickening," Eruestan said after the last fight, looking around. "Where are all the mages? Solona said there was fighting."

"Something tells me they didn't win," Alistair said.

"All this destruction because of one man's grab for power," Wynne said sadly. "We _must_ find the Litany."

"Let's try through this door," Eruestan said. "It's quiet, maybe Niall and the others have regrouped there."

He opened the door and stopped short. Mages littered the floor, all motionless. In the center of the room stood a horrific Abomination, holding a mage by his collar. The Abomination seemed to drawing something out of the mage, Rowena wasn't sure what. The Abomination tossed him to the ground—Eruestan shivered and whispered, "Niall."

Alistair and Leliana gave horrified gasps as they realized what was happening. The sound echoed off the wall; the Abomination turned to look at them.

"Well, well, well," it said, "look what we have here."

Wynne instantly brandished her staff. "Everyone, get back!" she shouted. "It's a Sloth demon!"

"Now, now, why the yelling?" the demon said. "Everyone should just relax." Rowena wasn't sure what a Sloth demon was, but already she could feel the exhaustion of the past few days catch up with her. In fact, she could barely keep her eyes open.

"Stay awake," Wynne said, fighting back a yawn. "If we…if we…fall asleep…we're…lost…"

Rowena's legs were giving out. Cormac had already fallen asleep; the others were crashing to the ground around her.

"Yes, sleep," the demon said softly, as if coming from within her head. "Sleep, and forget about the world."

And she did.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Feel free to review!_


	21. Fading In and Out

_Hi, everyone! I'm terribly sorry for the incredible delay, my summer job has been more demanding than I was anticipating. Thank you again for your patience and your lovely support!_

* * *

"_Eruestan…Eruestan…wake up…_wake up!"

Eruestan's eyes fluttered open. The apprentice quarters were surprisingly bright for the morning; he blinked and squinted, trying to make out who was talking to him. Jowan was standing over his bed.

"Maker, you've been asleep for ages," he said. "I've never seen you sleep that long!"

"J-Jowan?" Eruestan said, sitting up. "Where am I?"

"Antiva," Jowan said, eyebrow raised. "What are you talking about? We're at the Circle."

Eruestan furrowed his eyebrows; his dream was getting harder and harder to remember. "B-but…I was outside the tower…the Blight…"

"Scary, isn't it?" Jowan said. "I heard King Cailan's calling for forces to march down south – do you think we're finally going to get out of here?"

Eruestan pinched his nose, a horrible sense of doubt growing in the back of his head. "But…I was there…I was at the battle…at…at Ostagar…?"

"Ostagar?" he said, frowning. "Where's that, even? I swear, you have the strangest dreams sometimes…"

Had it all just been a dream? The harder he tried to remember, the less he retained; he smiled weakly and tried to clear his head. "Sorry, it was just so…_real_. Whatever happened, I felt like I lived it."

Jowan rolled his eyes. "You're always saying that. Guess you're just too connected to the Fade or whatever." He sighed. "Maker, when am I going to get my Harrowing?"

A chill went through Eruestan like an electric shock. He leapt to his feet and backed a few steps away from his friend. "Jowan," he said sharply. "You're a blood mage."

"Was that part of the dream, too? Weird."

"It wasn't a dream, Jowan," Eruestan snapped. "It really happened. And after that I…"

"HEY!" They jumped and turned around: three Templars had entered the apprentice quarters and were running angrily toward them. "What are you two doing here? You need to be in the dining hall now!"

"That's not a rule," Eruestan said, frowning.

One of the Templars crossed her arms. "Are you doubting me, mage?"

He bit his lip; he didn't want to cause any trouble, but at the same time he needed to focus on Jowan—or did he? It was suddenly very hard to concentrate. "No, of course not, I just…I needed to talk to my friend…"

"That can wait," one of the other Templars said harshly. "Move along!"

"Eruestan, come on," Jowan said, pulling his arm. "We don't want any trouble."

Eruestan started to follow him, still unable to shake the feeling of unease. He was suddenly angry, irrationally angry. These Templars had no right to make up rules around him! How dare they drag him around like this!

"_You have to stop letting these guys walk all over you, Eruestan_."

He gasped and stood up straight. His friend Rowena had said that. Rowena was a Grey Warden. He was a Grey Warden. The Blight. The tower. The Sloth demon. As if on cue, he turned and looked out the nearest window, seeing a blackened spire looming in the distance.

"Andraste's tits," he said. "I'm in the Fade."

There was a loud crack. "You shouldn't have said that, Eruestan," Jowan said, turning towards him. Lightning started to crackle from his hands as the Templars drew their blades.

"Oh," Eruestan said. "Shite."

The one nearest Templar charged at him; he yelped and jumped back, falling into one of the bunks. He scrambled out the other side as the knight cut through a bedpost with his sword; leaning around the side, Eruestan threw a lightning spell at him. With a shriek the knight flew across the room and landed unmoving on the floor; a few seconds later he turned into a dead demon. The other two knights roared and tore after Eruestan; he began to run frantically down the row of beds. Thinking quickly, he threw up a magical barrier; the first Templar crashed into it and sprawled to the floor. The third, however, skirted around it into the next lane, racing to catch up to him. Panicked, Eruestan tried to run faster and tripped, crashing to the ground. The Templar ran up to him, her sword raised high—instinctively, he thrust out a hand and encased her in a sheet of ice. She stood frozen in place for a moment; with a grunt, Eruestan thrust out his hand and sent her flying to the back wall where she, too, fell to the ground motionless and transformed into a demon.

The last Templar had climbed to his feet and was now charging at him. No longer afraid, Eruestan drew his hand back and jabbed forward, sending an ice spike flying through the air that embedded itself in the knight's skull.

Panting, Eruestan looked down the aisle to see Jowan staring at him, lightning still crackling in his fist. "Well, well, well," he grumbled in a voice far deeper than his own. "Here we are."

"Goodbye, Jowan." Before the demon could perform his lightning spell, Eruestan swept his hands to the side; a small piece of wood that had been dangling off the broken bed frame to Jowan's side sped through the air, impaling itself in the demon's neck. The lightning in his hand faded instantly; falling to his knees, Jowan fumbled at his neck for a few seconds before shooting one last baleful look at Eruestan and transforming into a demon corpse.

Eruestan dropped his hand and blinked. Suddenly he was out of the tower and into the twisted landscape of the Fade. Someone was weeping near him; turning around, he found Rowena, who was hunched over on her knees.

"Rowena?' A second later he jumped back; she had risen to her feet impossibly fast, blade pointed at his chest.

"I don't know what kind of spirit you are," she snarled, tears staining her cheeks, "but by the Maker, you'll tell me what's going on or I'll rip you to pieces!"

"It's me, Rowena!" he said, face white. "It's Eruestan!"

With a growl, she began to move forward; then, Cormac barked happily and stepped between them, tail wagging at Eruestan. Watching her hound, Rowena let her arm drop. "Eruestan!" she gasped. "Is it really you? Thank the Maker!"

"I'm so glad I found you!" he said, hugging her. "We're in the Fade!"

"_This_ is the Fade?" she said in horror, looking around. "I thought it would be…prettier."

"Some parts are, I think," he said. "We're just not in those parts."

"How'd we even get here?" she said. "Last thing I remember, we'd come across that demon in the tower."

"A Sloth demon," Eruestan said. "They feed off human energy and try to trap us in what would make us content."

She smiled bitterly. "What an arse – he did a good job, at least. I dreamt I was back at Highever."

Eruestan's heart panged. If she had been at Highever, she likely had had to fight her family. "I dreamt I was back at the Tower. The demon must be trying to trap us in our pasts."

"Do you know where everyone else is?"

He shook his head. "I don't know how to get out of here, either." Out of nowhere, something sprouted out of the ground in between them.

With a yelp, they jumped back and looked at what had appeared. It seemed to be an ancient pedestal, twisted and shaped by time and the energies of the Fade. Strange runes covered its surface; as they approached it, they all began to glow.

"What is it?" Rowena asked. "Can it help us?"

He paused. Was it like the pedestal during the Harrowing? Would it take them back to the tower? Potentially. Would it bring his friends back as well? Probably not.

"I'm not sure it's what we need," he said, turning around again. "Let's try to look around, there might be something else—_ow_!" He'd collided into the pedestal, which had managed to jump in front of him.

He frowned and turned around again; the pedestal was before him once more. He spun around – it moved with him. "This is being remarkably persistent."

"Maybe we have to use it," Rowena said. "After all, what's the worst that could happen?"

Eruestan decided it was best not to think about what that could be. "All right, then," he said. "Let's link hands." They grabbed each other's arms, Rowena's other hand resting on Cormac's head.

Rowena looked over at him. "Before we go, though, Eruestan? I'm…I'm sorry. About earlier. I shouldn't have said those things."

"No, I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have said what I did either, it wasn't true. You were right, though, I need to stand up for myself – both to the Templars and to others."

"I didn't need to say it like that, though," she said. "And Eruestan? I'm glad I'm here with you."

He smiled. "I'm glad I'm with you, too." There was a brief pause. "You know, you were technically supposed to say that I was right, too…"

"Don't ruin the moment, Eruestan."

"Right." They both looked down and reached into the basin, Rowena keeping one hand on Cormac's collar. Like a magnet drawing iron, both their hands were brought to the same rune. There was a flash of light, and suddenly they were standing on a small island floating in the emptiness of the Fade.

"Whose dream is this?" Rowena asked. Eruestan shrugged and started to say something when someone called out his name.

"Eruestan? Is that really you?" He turned around to see Niall staring at him in shock. "What are you doing here? How did that Sloth demon get you, too?"

"Niall!" Eruestan cried. "We've been looking for you! We're here to save the Circle!"

He laughed joylessly. "Who's going to save you, though?" he asked. "There's no getting out of here."

"What do you mean?" Rowena asked.

He pointed to the pedestal to their side. "This thing. It leads nowhere. I broke out of my dream soon enough after I was brought here, but every time I tried to leave the pedestal takes me to a different island with stronger and stronger demons. There are impossible obstacles, too—walls of fire and doors that are impossible to open. We're stuck here, forever."

"We'll see about that," Rowena said. "Eruestan, let's give this a try."

"We'll be back, Niall," Eruestan said.

"Yes, you will," Niall said glumly. The two of them placed their hands into the basin and were instantly transported into a burning building.

"Maker!" Rowena gasped, jumping back. Cormac yelped and started to run around frantically.

"Stay back," Eruestan said, stepping forward. Taking a deep breath, he thrust out his hands and summoned a cone of freezing air. Moving in a circle, he managed to extinguish all the flames in the room.

"This place," Rowena said as the smoke cleared, "is terrible."

"Tell me about it," Eruestan said. "Now what should we do—_Maker's breath_!" The nearest door had burst open and a flaming, flailing, screaming Templar had charged through. Rowena readied her sword; Eruestan, however, waved his hand and put out the flames with a blast of cold air.

"Oh!" the Templar said, stopping in his tracks. "Thank you!"

"My pleasure," Eruestan said. "Any chance you could tell us what's going on?"

"Hell if I know," the knight said. "I was just on fire. I can help, though—here, I learned this form off a spirit a few rooms back." He waved his hand and instantly Rowena, Eruestan, and Cormac all turned into flaming skeletons.

"Well," Eruestan said after a moment's pause, "this is new."

Cormac started to try to chew one of his leg bones; Rowena sighed and pulled on his collar. "Thank you…I think. We're not going to be stuck like this, are we?"

"No," the Templar said, "you can change back anytime. I wouldn't do it too soon though, because, you know, you might catch fire."

"Yes, that would put a damper on the evening," Eruestan said. "Will you be all right?'

"Oh, I died days ago," the Templar said. "Good luck to you, though!"

He then vanished through the room's ceiling.

Skeleton Rowena turned back to Skeleton Eruestan. "This is what I imagine snorting elfroot feels like."

He nodded. "Luckily, nothing in the Fade happens as a coincidence. This form has to help us somehow—let's keep moving, see what else is here."

The three began running down the halls of the building, now ignoring the flames blazing around them. In fact, Eruestan found the fire rather comforting now, as though it were an extension of his body.

The hall ended in a giant wall of flame. Glancing at each other, the three skeletons crossed through to the other side. They were now standing in a large giant circular chamber, filled with crackling fire. In the center stood a giant Rage demon.

"Fools!" it roared. "You all will burn!" There was a massive explosion as three great fireballs raced towards them; the flame passed through them, tickling gently. Seeing them still standing, the demon howled and slammed its hands to the ground; suddenly, each bout of fire around the room gave birth to smaller Rage demons, until half the floor was covered in fire monsters.

Eruestan, Rowena, and Cormac all fell into action. While Eruestan threw waves of cold air at the Rage demon in an attempt to weaken it, Rowena and her hound both made a semi-tour of the room, cutting down everything in their paths. As Rowena killed the last of her targets, Eruestan took a deep breath and released a blast of cold air that encased the demon in ice. "Rowena, now!"

As if suspended by a wire, Skeleton Rowena jumped impossibly high and with a mighty scream sliced the demon's head off. She landed to her feet – for a moment nothing happened. Then there was a blast of wind that blew Eruestan off his feet; when he stood up again, the flames had been extinguished, the room had morphed into a corridor, and the three had lost their skeletal forms.

"How did I do that?" Rowena gasped, climbing to her feet.

He shrugged. "I'm more powerful here, too – I think the Fade responds to how you feel. I bet if we'd actually felt in danger because of the demon, we'd have been much weaker."

As the two climbed to their feet, a door a few feet away from them creaked open loudly. "Subtle," Rowena remarked, rubbing her back.

"So long as we don't turn into frozen werewolves, I'll be ok," Eruestan said. "Let's see what we've got."

They entered the room cautiously; it was pitch black and silent. Then Eruestan blinked, and he was standing in a tropical paradise.

Waves were crashing on the beach as tall palm trees swayed in the sea breeze. A longship was anchored to a tree, bobbing in the sea. Cormac barked happily and started jumping in the waves.

"Now why couldn't I have been sent _here_?" Rowena sighed.

Eruestan smiled and started to reply; then something caught his eye. "Look, there's Sten."

There were about five Qunari, all earnestly discussing something under the shade of the palm trees. Sten stood at their head, dressed in the full regalia of a Qunari warrior. As they drew nearer, Eruestan began to fully realize how impressive the Qunari were. They were all as tall as Sten—their pointed steel armor and gleaming longswords made them look like ferocious monsters. To his surprise, all the other Qunari seemed to bear giant horns—only Sten lacked a pair. The others seemed to be deferring to him.

"_Ferelden yolculuk uzun ve tehlikeli olacaktır_," one of the soldiers was saying, gesturing to the ships. "_Biz daha fazla malzeme ve erkeklerin daha fazla sayıda gerekir_."

"_Daha erkekler_?" another said. "_Arishok bu kararı yetki vermiştir_?"

"_Arishok gün uzakta bizden, biz onun görüş sabırsızlanıyorum_!"

"_Ona karşı giderek Çun karşı gidiyor_," Sten said. "Rowena, Eruestan, you may approach. _Ben Çun karşı herhangi bir hareket izin vermez_."

"What's he saying?" Rowena whispered as they walked towards them. "You speak Qunari, right?"

"I know how to say 'freezing cage'," he whispered back.

"Oh." She paused. "Did he say that?"

"I did not," Sten said before turning back to his men. "_Yoldaşlar, bu saldırı affet_."

"_Sten, bu bas kim_?" one of the soldiers said, glaring at them.

"Men, these _bas_ are from Ferelden," Sten said. "As we are headed there soon, it is best to take this opportunity to use the language skills you have been given to converse with them."

"Um…hi," Eruestan said, glancing at the hostile looks being thrown his way. "Sten, do you recognize us?"

"Of course," he said. "You are Rowena and Eruestan, Grey Wardens from Ferelden, and we are all currently asleep in the Circle of Magi."

"These are Grey Wardens?" one of his soldiers said. "They are weak."

"They are _bas_," one of his fellows spat.

"Why do they keep calling us that?" Rowena asked distractedly. "And how can you realize what's going on without them turning into demons?"

"Is that what they do?" Sten asked. "Huh. Interesting. And _bas_ is Qunlat for 'outsider, heathen, thing'."

"Charming," Rowena said. "And yes, that is what they do. It happened to the two of us."

He thought for a moment. "You both broke free?"

Eruestan nodded. "Independently of each other."

Sten was silent. "I wonder if you two are much stronger than I first thought."

"Yeah, that's probab—I, uh, mean, what…what do you mean?" Rowena said, frowning as Eruestan glared at her.

"You knew in Lothering that 'Sten' was not my name, it was my title," he replied, leading them away from his men. "'Sten' means 'commander', and I was commander of the Beresaad, 'those who reach ahead.' I was sent ahead with these men to obtain information on the Blight."

"Why do you tell them of our mission, _kadan_?" one of the soldiers snapped. "They are _bas._"

"Do not interrupt the Sten!" another shot back.

"_Taashath_," Sten said. "Allow me to speak." The soldiers fell silent. "When we arrived in Lothering, we were attacked by darkspawn; in the battle, I was knocked unconscious. When I woke up, these men were dead and this," he said, unsheathing a beautifully made greatsword, "was gone."

"What do you mean, we were dead, _kadan_?"

Rowena skated over the sensitive topic. "It's a beautiful sword, Sten."

"It is a cheap reproduction," he said, sheathing it. "Trappings of a dream. But what a good dream…"

Rowena and Eruestan glanced at each other. "Sten?"

"A warrior of the Qun is deeply connected to his blade," he said, still staring at it. "It's a relationship you cannot understand – our swords are our souls. Losing them, we become worthless—were I to return to Par Vollen without it, I would be executed. What's more, I allowed my men to die. This is my great shame."

"Why does the Sten keep saying we died?"

"There is nothing more I wish," Sten continued, "than to forget what has happened – what I have let happen. When I first realized, I went berserk – this is why I killed the farmer and his family, an act that sealed my dishonor. It has haunted me, and will continue to haunt me; to be presented with an escape is far too tempting. However," he said, looking back up at them, "I can only assume that such an attractive offer was also made to both of you, and that you both managed to resist it. You are therefore stronger than I am."

"You're still very strong, Sten," Eruestan said, eyeing the other Qunari.

"For what purpose?" he asked. "My efforts have only brought me pain and dishonor. I have failed my men, I have failed myself, I have failed the Qun. What point is there in continuing?"

"What are you saying, Sten?" Rowena asked.

He was silent for a moment. "Leave me here. Let my shame be my mark on the world – let that be my punishment."

"Bullshit," Rowena said. Eruestan and Sten turned to her in surprise. "That's bullshit, Sten. You have a chance to correct your mistakes, and you want to run from it? You want these men to have died in vain?"

"Rowena," Eruestan began; she cut him off.

"You have an obligation to the world now, Sten. The Blight is descending on the world, and you've given your word to help stop it. You think letting your men die is your great shame? Turning your back on the Blight would be even greater. Stick with your word, Sten – you owe these men that."

Sten stared at her for a long time, not saying anything. Eruestan twitched his fingers, ready for a fight. "You are right, _kadan_," he said finally. "Forgive my weakness."

"Forgiven," Rowena said. "Now come on, let's go."

"What are you doing?" one of the soldiers shouted. "You can't abandon us! What of the Qun?!"

"I have already left you, _kadan_," Sten said. "You just don't know it yet."

"_Sten_," one of the soldiers said, grabbing his arm, "_Bizimle kal._"

"_Yapamam_," Sten replied, turning away. There was a loud crack; Eruestan winced and looked over to see all the soldiers draw their weapons, glaring at Sten murderously. Bowing his head, Sten drew his blade and withdrew from the group; Rowena and Eruestan did so as well. "No," Sten said, holding out a hand. "I will end this."

The first Qunari was charging, his sword held low. Sten waited until he was a few feet in front of him before spinning around, sticking out his sword and slicing off the soldier's head. It flew through the air and landed in the sea; the body turned into a demon and fell to the sand. Roaring, two other soldiers ran towards him—Sten's first blow shattered the first one's blade. The other Qunari moved to flank him; Sten smashed his nose in with the hilt of his greatsword, then plunged the blade into the soldier with the broken sword. Pulling the sword free, Sten swung his arm back and plunged the blade into the other soldier's skull. There was one soldier left; without blinking, Sten leaned back and chucked his sword forward, plunging it into the last soldier's chest.

"Remind me never to make you angry," Rowena said.

He smirked and drew his sword from the demon's body. "The Fade is a tricky pla—"

Eruestan blinked and he and Rowena were back in the hallway.

"What happened?" Rowena asked sharply as Cormac barked furiously. "Where's Sten?"

Eruestan shook his head, frowning. "We definitely freed him – he might have woken up?"

"Why didn't we wake up, then?" Rowena asked. "For all we know, he might be trapped somewhere else!"

There was a creak behind them; another door had opened. "There's no going back," Eruestan said. "All we can do is keep going where it wants us to."

She frowned, but nodded and walked forward with him. The door closed behind them and suddenly they were back in the apprentice quarters.

This time, however, the room was in total disarray. Most of the furniture was destroyed, blood was splayed on the walls, and the floor was littered with the bodies of dead apprentices.

"Eruestan, look," Rowena said, pointing. Wynne sat on her knees in the center of the room, face buried in her hands. They approached her cautiously.

"All this carnage, and for what?" she was saying to herself, staring at the face of one of the apprentices. "I should have been able to protect you…"

"Wynne," Eruestan said gently, "it's all right, they're still—"

She started and looked back at them. "You! What are you two doing here?"

"We've already met you, Wynne," Rowena started to say; the mage shook her head.

"You're too late," she spat, looking back down at the bodies. "The Circle has fallen, the children have been killed. Everything is over."

"It's not, though!" Eruestan said. "We still have a chance!"

She shook her head. "What chance could we have? There is no more to do. The Circle lies in ashes, ashes we must scatter to the winds..."

"Wynne, stop this!" Eruestan said. "We're in the Fade, can't you see that?"

"The Fade?" she said, frowning. "Impossible. I've studied the Fade for decades, I would know if I were there."

"Try to remember how you got here," Eruestan suggested. "Do you know how?"

"Of course I do," she said in frustration. She started to speak, then frowned in confusion. "I…that's strange, I can't concentrate. I've…I've never had this much trouble before…" She began to look concerned. "Maybe…I should leave this place, allow myself to better reflect…"

"_Don't go, Wynne_," the corpse beneath her said, turning its head towards her. She gasped and sprung to her feet. "_We still need you_!"

"What sort of demonry is this!" she cried, standing in front of Rowena and Eruestan. All around them, the corpses of the apprentices were rising to their feet. Eruestan felt his stomach drop; the corpses he was facing were all people he had grown up with, some of them still children. The idea of striking them down was unthinkable; he stood paralyzed, about to be attacked. Suddenly, Wynne was brandishing her staff. "Stay back, demons!" she thundered. "You have no power here!" With that, she slammed her staff to the ground, sending out a ray of magic that destroyed the demons in a burst of energy.

Wynne leaned heavily on her staff. "Unbelievable," she said. "To think, that after all my years of study I could still be taken in by some demon's cheap trick. How humiliating."

"How did you do that?" Eruestan asked in shock. "That was incredible!"

"What, that?" Wynne asked in surprise. "Oh, it's just a trick of the Fade, you have to—"

Eruestan, Rowena, and Cormac were back on Niall's island.

"Piss on Andraste!" Rowena snapped. "Why does it keep doing that?"

"You're back!" Niall said. "You killed one of the demons, didn't you? I could feel it from here!"

"We've killed a lot of demons, Niall," Eruestan said. "By the way, did anyone pass through here? A Qunari or Enchanter Wynne?"

Niall thought for a moment. "A Rage demon stalked through here a few minutes ago, was that one of them?"

"It's going to be me in a few minutes," Rowena muttered.

"Probably not, Niall," Eruestan said. "We'll be back again soon!"

This time, the pedestal brought them to a large field full of sunflowers. Eruestan frowned and looked around. "Do you see anyone?"

Rowena shook her head. "Wait—listen!"

"It is a lovely day for a picnic, my love," someone was saying in a monotone. "I'm so glad we were able to get away. Would you like another cookie?"

"I would," someone else purred. "You are a wonderful baker, my pet."

Eruestan waved his hands and sent out a wave of wind that separated the sunflowers; the shifting stalks revealed a small clearing where a Templar knight laying down on a blanket, staring dully at a pretty mage with long blond hair who was gently stroking his face.

"Erm, Eruestan?" Rowena murmured, blushing. "Maybe we should let them be, I think we're intruding…"

"Who's there?" the knight said sharply, sitting up straight. "Who are you?"

"No one, my love," the mage cooed. "Travelers, that's all."

"My apologies," Eruestan said meekly. "We'll leave you—" He stood up straight. In the few seconds he had glanced at the mage, she had managed to turn into Ser Gilmore. Cormac started to gently growl.

"Rowena," he said, "look her in the eyes."

Rowena jumped. "Y-Your Majesty? What are you doing here?"

Eruestan frowned. "'Your Majesty'?"

Ser Gilmore laughed, a cold, throaty sound. "Stay here, my pet," he murmured to the Templar. "They want to talk to me for a moment."

"Don't be too long," he said, staring up at the sky. "The cookies will get stale."

Ser Gilmore smiled at him, then turned back to Eruestan and Rowena with a dark look on his face. "You two are spoiling my fun."

"Eruestan, what's going on?" Rowena asked in alarm. "Why is the king talking to us?"

"It's not the king, Rowena," Eruestan said, taking a step back. "It's…it's some sort of demon…"

Ser Gilmore laughed. "And what's so demonic about me? I give people what they want; I make their desires come true."

Eruestan stared at him for a moment. Deep down, he knew what he was, there was hardly any doubt—but could that be true? Did that really mean…He glanced at Ser Gilmore again and realized that yes, maybe it was. "Rowena, it's a Desire demon."

"Of course it bloody is," she sighed, drawing her sword. "I bet all these sunflowers are demons, too."

"Let's not be so hasty," Ser Gilmore said, eyeing her weapon. "I have what I want, I see no need for us to fight."

"What do you mean?" Eruestan said, frowning.

He pointed back to the Templar. "That is my prize. His soul has long since withered; without me, he will die. Why ruin his happiness, and take his life? Let us live together in peace."

"We need our friends," Rowena said. "That's why we came here."

The demon shrugged. "Take them, if you want them. It is a fair exchange."

Rowena turned to Eruestan. "What do you think? Should we do it?"

He thought for a moment. The Templar did seem happy…but at what cost? "No," he said. "His life does not belong to you, demon!"

Ser Gilmore's face went black. "Fools!" he thundered, throwing out his arms. His skin was turning purple and scaly; sharp claws were sprouting from his fingers as horns grew from his head. The sky above them turned black as the sunflowers began twisting violently in a strong wind. The demon slammed its hands to the earth and suddenly the flowers were growing to ten times their original height. "You will never take what is mine!"

Some unseen force dragged Eruestan backwards into the sunflower field. He heard Rowena cry out somewhere near him; the flowers were blocking out any light. Suddenly, they started to grab at him; panicking, he swung his fists wildly through the air, sending out a burst of fire that blasted through several of the stalks. More stalks lunged for him; he began running through the stalks frantically, completely disoriented. It was now pitch black, and sunflower stalks were sprouting up everywhere. He began spouting fire randomly in the blind hope that it would scare the plants off.

He could hear someone slashing through the sunflowers nearby; unsure if it was Rowena or the Templar, he dived to the side as they stormed past, landing on the ground. Instantly, sunflower roots began circling around his wrists, dragging him deeper into the earth. With a burst of energy he broke free and destroyed them with a burst of flame. More roots leapt up to grab him; with a yell he jumped back and landed once more in the clearing.

"Well, well, well." Ser Gilmore was standing over him, human once more, shirtless and sweaty. Eruestan was paralyzed. "You're a fighter," the demon cooed, bending close to his face; Eruestan suddenly felt breathless "Maybe you'd make a better pet after all…" Then a sword jutted through his chest.

Ser Gilmore's eyes grew wide. Someone withdrew the blade; grabbing at the hole in his chest, he turned around slowly to see Rowena looking at him in disdain. With a final groan, he transformed into his demon form once more and fell to the ground. The wind picked up, the sunflowers withered, and suddenly they were in another hallway.

Rowena slumped against the wall and caught her breath. "You tell anyone I saw King Cailan, and I swear I'll gut you."

"Fair enough," Eruestan said, wiping his forehead. "Don't know how exactly that would come up in conversation anyways."

She conceded that point with a nod. "Who'd you see, anyways?"

He paused. "Not important."

"That's not fair!" she protested. "You know mine!"

"Well, that's not my fault, is it?"

She stared at him for a moment. "Was it…was it me?"

"Well, that's awfully conceited."

"Hey, you're the one who won't tell me."

"It wasn't you," he said. "I just…I need a bit of time to think about it, that's all."

There was another pause. "Was it Sten?"

"What? No!"

"You said you needed to think about it! And Sten would definitely involve a lot of thinking!"

"Can we just keep moving?" he grumbled, climbing to his feet. "I'm sure one of these doors is going to open for us soon."

"Sure, sure." She walked forward, grinning. "Good look getting him inside, that's all I'm saying."

Eruestan flashed her a very rude gesture before walking through the nearest door. It closed behind them and brought them to a small kitchen.

Cormac barked happily and ran towards the nearest ham; Rowena shrugged and let him. "It's only a demon-filled dream anyways," she said.

"I'll go and see what that was, Goldie!" someone shouted; a minute later, Alistair walked into the room. "Oh! It's you!" he said happily. "It's so great to see you, it's been so long!"

"Alistair, thank the Maker!" Rowena said. "We need to get you out of here, come on!"

He wasn't listening. "Goldie! Look what I found! My friends from the Grey Wardens!"

"Goldie?" Eruestan asked.

"I'm his sister," someone said in a terrible falsetto. "Goldanna." Rowena and Eruestan stared at her. The demon had decided that the best way to portray Alistair's sister was to literally be Alistair, but with a long blond wig on.

"Oh, Alistair, come on," Eruestan said after a moment. "You can't be serious."

"That's what I thought, too!" he said happily. "I knew I had a sister, but I never thought I'd meet her—and here she is!"

"I'm so happy to finally be reunited with my baby brother!" Wig-Alistair chirped. Alistair wrapped his arm around the demon's shoulder and nustled his head against it.

"I'm going to be sick," Eruestan said, looking away.

"He does look happy, though, doesn't he?" Rowena said, smiling fondly.

"Think about what you just said and look back at him."

She shook her head. "Right, right…Alistair! We have to go!"

"What?" he said, standing upright. "No, we can't!"

"We have to," Eruestan said. "We have a job to do."

"Don't take my little brother!" Wig-Alistair cried. "Come, stay for dinner!"

"Alistair, this isn't your sister," Rowena said. "This is a demon."

"I like you, but you're being very mean," Alistair said, frowning. "Don't be rude to my sister."

"Yes, don't be rude to me," Wig-Alistair said, glaring at them.

"Try to think about how you got here, Alistair," Eruestan said. "Try to remember."

"All right, but only because you're my friend." He paused. "Huh. Strange. I can't…really recall. I was…I was in a tower…the Circle tower…there were demons…" He stopped and took a few steps away from his sister. "Something…something's not right. I need to get out of here."

The room cracked; the demon picked up a giant cleaver lying on the table in front of it. "You can't leave," it said in a low growl. "You are mine, forever!"

Alistair was in shock; Goldanna swung at his face, getting dangerously close to striking at him. Luckily, Cormac, who had been busy with his ham until this point, pounced and knocked the demon to the ground. Before it could get up, Rowena stepped forward and whacked its head off.

Alistair's jaw had dropped. "What the—how did you—was that—what—"

"A demon," Rowena said, sheathing her sword. "We're in the Fade, Alistair."

"The Fade?" He ran a hand through his hair. "Huh, usually there are more people laughing at me in the Fade—"

They were back in the hallway.

"This is starting to get tedious," Rowena muttered as she walked through the next door. Eruestan followed her and found himself in a beautiful salon.

Despite being aware that he was in a dream, Eruestan immediately felt self-conscious. The room was magnificent: beautiful marble floors, large glass windows with silk curtains, delicate wood furniture, and an impressive ceiling mosaic made of crystal and precious stones. The inhabitants of the room, however, were equally as exquisite. They were all dressed in brightly colored silks and expensive jewels; each wore an intricately carved mask as well. Eruestan and Rowena's wool tunics were nothing to their apparel. They were chatting over tea; at their head was an elegant older woman whose graying hair was towered masterfully on her head.

"_Madame l'Impératrice aime trop les bals masqués_," she was remarking, filling her neighbor's teacup. "_J'étais absolument choquée de recevoir sa dernière invitation au Palais d'hiver._"

"Shite," Rowena muttered. "We're in Orlais."

"_Une soirée à Halamshiral n'est pas aussi douleureuse que ça, ma chère Cecilie_," one of the other ladies said. "_On ne peut pas ignorer la beauté du palais._"

"_Les critiques nous disent que la beauté est mieux appréciée d'une distance_," the hostess replied. "_Si oui, j'aimerais donc évaluer le palais depuis la sécurité de ma propre maison, à Val Royeaux._" The other nobles tittered and burst into polite applause.

"Bloody Orlesians," Rowena said, rolling her eyes.

The hostess looked up at them and started. "Lady Rowena!" she gasped. "Eez zat you?"

Rowena sighed and curtsied; suddenly she was wearing a green silk dress equally as beautiful as anything the other ladies were wearing along with a silver mask that bore the crest of Highever. "_Madame Cecilie_," she said. "_Je suis ravie de vous retrouver._"

"You are too kind," Lady Cecilie said. "_Mes amis, voice Mademoiselle Rowena de Cousland, la fille du duc de Hautecime._" The others murmured a series of pleasantries in Orlesian. "I see you 'ave brought your dog and your servant weez you?"

Eruestan's clothes morphed into the livery of House Cousland. "I'm afraid not," Rowena said. "In fact, he is my traveling companion."

The nobles stared for a moment, then burst into a explosion of whispers. Eruestan's clothes changed into a well-cut, yet rather revealing outfit. "I see," Lady Cecilie said finally. "Well, would you and your…_friend_…do us the 'onor of taking tea? We were just about to listen to a delightful young singer from my 'ouse'old."

"The honor is ours, Lady Cecilie," Rowena said, curtsying once more. "Cormac, stay." The hound, now wearing a bright pink bow and looking thoroughly confused, obeyed and continued frowning at the room. "Play along till we find out whoever's trapped here," she muttered to Eruestan. "Don't say anything to anyone."

"I couldn't if I wanted to," he whispered back. Smiling, the two sat on a small couch, Eruestan feeling extremely insecure. The nobleman sitting next to him was staring intently at him; he blushed and hastily accepted a cup of tea.

"Zere you are," Lady Cecilie said, handing Rowena her tea. "_Josefette? Va trouver Léliana, nous sommes prets à l'écouter._" Rowena and Eruestan exchanged a glance as an elven servant bowed and disappeared behind a tapestry. "_Mademoiselle de Cousland, avez-vous déjà eu la malchance d'être invitée à notre Palais d'hiver?_ _Nous venons de discuter l'amour que notre chère impératrice tient pour ce maudit batiment._"

"_Si Halamshiral est maudit, que je sois damnée!_" Rowena replied, smiling. "_J'y suis allée pour la fête de Satinalia et je n'ai jamais vu un aussi bel enfer._"

"_Vous croyez_?" one of the noblemen said. "_J'aurais pensé que vos goûts féreldens désapprouveraient de nos petites folies._"

"_Même un mabari reconnaît la différence entre le cartilage et le boeuf_," she remarked, sipping her tea. The nobles broke into applause.

Despite knowing that he was in a room filled with demons, Eruestan couldn't help but start to feel bored. Rowena had adapted to the new scenario with ease; not speaking the language, all he could tell is that she had said something clever. A nobleman and his wife were staring at him, eyes salacious beneath their masks. Uncomfortable, he tried to pull his clothes over his exposed body.

Someone started singing; Eruestan started and looked over to see Leliana emerge from behind a tapestry. She was wearing a simple mask and playing a small lute, singing something in Orlesian. Her voice was beautiful; it may have been due to the Fade, but for a moment Eruestan was so transfixed that he forgot where he was and what he needed to do. Suddenly, Cormac was barking; the sound jolted him and made him jump to his feet.

"Leliana!" he and Rowena both shouted. "It's us!"

The music screeched to a halt; instantly everyone in the room was staring at them in shock. For a second Eruestan felt embarrassed; then he remembered that everyone was a demon.

"Lady Rowena," Lady Cecilie said, setting down her teacup. "You are being most rude."

Rowena ignored her and ripped off her mask. "Leliana, I know you recognize us—none of this is real!"

Leliana fumbled with her mask and ripped it off. "I d-do recognize you," she stammered. "But I don't know how…"

"Do not speak to zem, Léliana!" Lady Cecilie snapped, rising to her feet. "Lady Rowena, I demand zat you leave zees room wiz your little _amant_—_tout de suite_!"

Embarrassed, Leliana turned to exit through the tapestry. "Leliana!" Eruestan cried out. "Your vision from the Maker!"

She froze and turned around. "My vision…"

Eruestan was ready for the 'crack' this time. As the creepy noble couple lunged for him, he lifted the tea table with magic, blasting it and the nobles against the nearest wall. Next to him, Rowena had plunged a butter knife into the chest of the snarling lady clawing at her face. The remaining four had surrounded Leliana, who was dodging their lunges and grabs as if in a trance. A nobleman rushed at her; she smashed her lute into his head; grabbing the broken handle, she spun around and whipped the chords across a noble's face, leaving deep gashes over her eyes. Screaming, she dropped the knife she had been brandishing; Leliana snatched it and used it to slit the noble's throat. She then threw the knife into the nearest nobleman's right eye.

All that was left was Lady Cecilie. "_Léliana_," she said, breaking a leg off the nearest side table, "_je t'avais dit de rester sage devant mes invités…_"

"_Silence, démon_!" Leliana cried. "_Va te faire foutre_!"

Cecilie howled and charged at her; Leliana swept her off her feet and plunged the broken lute handle into her back.

The room fell silent. "What the _hell_ is happening right now?" Leliana asked, staring at the dead demon that had been her mistress.

"We're in the Fade, Leliana," Eruestan said. "Are you all right?"

She nodded and climbed to her feet. "All things considered, I suppose."

"I didn't know you used to be a part of Lady Cecilie's household," Rowena said.

"My mother worked for her in Ferelden," Leliana said, a little distractedly. "She went back to Orlais with Her Ladyship before I was born; after she died, Lady Cecilie helped raise me." She sighed. "That is, until I—"

As if on cue, they were on Niall's island once more.

"There you are," the mage said, panting slightly. "Did you get another one?"

He looked as though he had aged twenty years.

"Niall," Eruestan said, horrified, "what happened to you?"

"The—the Sloth d-demon's feeding off me," he said, struggling to stay upright. "You have to hurry, I don't have much energy left."

Eruestan and Rowena exchanged glances. "Keep fighting it, Niall!" Rowena said. "We'll get you out of here!"

He smiled weakly. "You know what? You just might."

The two of them plunged their hands back into the basin; they immediately found themselves at Flemeth's hut.

"Morrigan, dear, do come inside," Flemeth said sweetly from the door. "Your dinner is getting cold!"

"Stop talking to me!" Morrigan snapped. "You are a most annoying demon!"

"Morrigan?" Eruestan said. "You know this is a demon?"

"Of course I do!" she replied. "Though 'tis what I normally call my mother, to be fair…"

"Take this scarf, dearie," Flemeth said, reaching back into her hut. "You must be awfully cold in those rags."

"You cannot even read my mind well enough to do a decent impression of my mother, demon!" Morrigan snapped. "Get away from me!"

"You are always so rude to me, child," Flemeth whimpered. "What have I done to deserve this?"

"So if you know she's a demon," Eruestan said, "and you know you're in the Fade, and you want to leave, why isn't she fighting you?"

"Do I look like I would know?" Morrigan snapped. "Now is not the time for talk – you took long enough getting here, help me get rid of this creature!"

"Come out here, demon!" Rowena yelled, drawing her sword. "You've been around long enough!"

The door to the hut slammed shut as the Fade cracked. "You should learn to respect your mother, Morrigan," Flemeth snarled. Suddenly, she turned into an eagle and flew into her daughter's face.

Eruestan gasped and jumped out of the way; Morrigan, however, turned into a raven and began fighting the demon, clawing at its eyes. Screaming, Flemeth swooped to the ground and transformed into a wild dog; Morrigan became a wolf that lunged for the dog's throat. From there the two began a game of (sometimes literal) cat-and-mouse, taking forms that Eruestan barely recognized to fight each other. All he and Rowena could do was stare in awe.

"Listen to your mother, Morrigan!" the demon cackled, taking the form of a giant snake that lifted its head to pounce.

Morrigan retook her human form with a flash of light. "I am done listening to you," she snapped. She sent out a giant lightning spell; the snake was illuminated for several seconds, then vanished in a ball of light, a cackle echoing through the Wilds.

"Well, that was excessively annoying," Morrigan said, brushing some stray hairs out of her face. "I wonder if I could try to find—"

Eruestan was not surprised this time to find himself once more on Niall's island. Niall, however, was on the floor.

"Niall!" Eruestan cried, running over to him. Rowena helped him pull the mage away from the rock he had fallen by. "What's happening to you?"

Niall's hair had gone white and his skin was deeply wrinkled. He struggled to look at the two of them and smiled weakly. "Y-you did it," he stammered. "B-bit too late for m-me, though…"

"Don't say that," Rowena said. "We'll kill the demon keeping us here and we'll set you free."

He shook his head. "Look at me—the d-demon's drained my life force. It's the only th-thing keeping me alive. Once you kill it, I'll die too."

"There has to be another way!"

He had stopped listening. "My m-mother used to say I was destined for great things…she had green eyes…do you think I've done her proud?"

"You have, Niall," Eruestan said gently. "You fought for so many days, you defended the Circle."

"The C-Circle…" He looked over at Eruestan. "I n-never did much for the C-Circle…your robes are s-still in my room…I should have helped you…" He was quiet for a moment. "You two are going to get out of here. I know you are. When you do, take the Litany of Adralla off my body. Save the Circle and s-stop that Uldred bastard."

"Niall…," Eruestan said, deeply moved. "We…we will."

"We should go," Rowena murmured.

"Will you be all right, Niall?"

He nodded and closed his eyes. "Find the Litany…make Mam proud…"

"Let's get out of here," Rowena whispered, rising to her feet; Niall was now fast asleep, breathing heavily. Eruestan followed her to the pedestal. One rune in the center was left glowing.

"Are you ready?" Rowena asked.

He grabbed her hand. "Let's finish this."

They were in a rugged valley, surrounded by cliffs. The sky was boiling, with bursts of wind and small rocks smacking their faces. In the center of the valley was a hooded figure, shoulders hunched against the wind.

"Well, well," it growled, turning towards them. "Rebellious slaves before lunch? How unseemly."

"Back off, you monster," Rowena snapped, drawing her sword. "You've already tried to trap us in here once, you won't succeed again!"

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong," the demon said. "You came to kill each other, didn't you?"

There was a red-haired woman in front of him. He didn't recognize her – wait, no, he did. She had injured him. She hated him. He hated her. He wanted to hurt her.

She had a sword and was swinging it at him. He tried to freeze her. She dodged the spell and lunged forward. He blasted her back with magic. She blocked it with her shield and started to charge forward again. He summoned lightning and was about to blast her when a dog jumped in front of her and howled at both of them. Dog. He knew that dog, didn't he? Where did he…

"Cormac," Eruestan whispered. "Rowena, stop!"

Her sword was inches from his face. She stood completely still for a moment, then dropped her arm, horrified. "Eruestan!"

"_Fools_!" the demon bellowed, drawing their attention. "I would have given you everything!" It began to rise into the air, storms clouds swirling up above it. "Why would you resist me?"

The valley was shaking; larger rocks were falling now, and lightning was striking. The valley itself was shifting; the demon was now miles away, and large boulders were falling on top of them. They pressed themselves against the cliff wall and suddenly Eruestan was afraid, very afraid, more afraid than he had ever been.

_Yes_, a voice inside his head said. _You are weak and afraid. Embrace your fear. Stay with me…forever…_

Eruestan began to nod, hands clutching the rock behind him frantically. At that moment, he touched Rowena's hand. The two turned to stare at each other, and suddenly all he could think of was one sentence.

"Stop letting these guys walk all over you, Eruestan."

_No!_ the voice screamed; Eruestan didn't listen. Where fear had been, only anger and confidence were now. Filled with more power than he had ever known, Eruestan summoned a giant magical barrier that caught the rocks as they fell—he then flung it towards the other end of the valley, hoping they would bury the demon. Only now the valley was the size of a classroom at the tower. The demon was giant, as tall as the tower of Ishal; he and Rowena grew too, until they were half its height. Rowena's sword was now the size of a mountain; she swung it at the demon, who hissed and repulsed her with a wave of its magic.

Eruestan was casting a giant lightning spell—for a moment he felt two others there, adding their magic to his. They disappeared and he cast it; it hit the demon in the chest and blasted it back a few feet. It howled into the air, sending waves through the Fade. Someone was shooting arrows at it now, and a group of warriors was charging down its way. Eruestan closed his eyes and tried to magically strengthen them; when he opened them again, only Rowena was left fighting it, Cormac lunging at the demon beside her. It swiped and clawed, but the two of them were blurs, matching blow for blow. Rowena's shield was the size of a wall; she used it to blast the demon to its feet.

The magic casters were back now, throwing spells at the demon. Eruestan joined in, but the archer replaced them soon, singing a battle song that vibrated through the air. Arrows were jutting through the demon now; it was getting weaker and weaker. The area around them was falling apart; the sky itself was shattering. People were flying in and out of the fight; magic was pouring out of Eruestan as he began to absorb parts of the Fade itself. He was glowing now—the demon shrieked from the light and thrust a bony hand out to him, attempting to bath him in darkness. The warriors and the other mages disappeared; shadows were crashing down on him as the ground crumbled to pieces around them.

_You will obey!_

"_Enough!_" he screamed, throwing back his head. There was a blinding flash of light…


	22. The Fight for the Tower

…and Eruestan was lying on a cold stone floor. There were groans all around him; the others were sitting up, all rubbing various parts of their bodies.

"Maker," Alistair said, massaging his neck. "Are we still in the Fade? Somebody pinch me."

"If you wish."

"On second thought, that's not really necessary," Alistair said quickly, stepping back from Sten. "So all that really happened?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Wynne said. "I can't believe I was so foolish, I…oh, no, who's this?" She bent over Niall's body. "Is this…Niall? He's so…_aged_…"

"They all are," Leliana said, looking around. "What did this demon do?"

"Niall said the demon was draining his life energy," Rowena said. "We met him in the Fade before he died."

"He also said that he'd found the Litany of Adralla," Eruestan said. "He told us…he said to take it off his body."

Wynne shook her head sadly. "Niall was always a lazy boy – I'm glad to know he was a hero in the end." She knelt down and ruffled through his robes, pulling out an ancient scroll. "Here it is."

Eruestan looked over her shoulder as she unrolled it. The text was in Tevinter characters, written in a shaky hand. Eruestan skimmed it with interest – it read more like a part of the Chant of Light than an incantation. "How does it work, Wynne?"

"The enchantments in the parchment give it its power. We only need to read from it to stop any blood magic around us. With the Litany, we'll be able to save Irving and anyone else we come across."

"We should hurry," Leliana said, pointing out a window. "The sun's already setting."

Eruestan looked out the window and paled. The sky was starting to turn orange. "We need to find Irving now," he said. "Wynne, do you have any idea where he might be?"

She shook her head. "We can only benefit from going higher. We'd hear a fight if it were on this floor."

They ran upstairs, racing against the fading light. The higher they went, the greater the damage to the tower became evident. Furniture lay in ruins, scorch marks littered the walls, windows were shattered – and yet there were no signs of any mages to be seen. Eruestan's stomach started to churn – what if Irving hadn't survived after all?

As they climbed to the sixth floor, someone nearby screamed in agony. They turned around the landing – an Abomination was trying to shove itself down a struggling mage's throat.

Before anyone could react, Wynne had pulled out the Litany and began reading from it. "_Maleficus sanguinis_," she said, raising her voice; the Abominations froze. "_Abstinere!_

_ Ira Creatoris gero_

_ Sponsa eius gladius meus est. _

_ Daeonum potestas non potest laedere me. _

_ Pecus!_

_ Te reprobo._

_ Non es acceptatus. _

_ Creator te odit. _

_ Est pluvia pro deserta tua_

_ Est ignis pro glaciem tuum _

_ Est antidotum pro venenum tuum _

_ Creatoris, dirigat gladium meum_

_ Andraste, lenit cor meum_

_ Retine me!_

_ Non potes me pugnare!_

_ Valeo, daemon!_

_ Valeo!"_

The Abominations shrieked and burst into pieces, spattering everyone with entrails.

"_Andraste's tits_!" Alistair cried. "It's in my mouth!"

"Quiet, Alistair!" Wynne ran up to the mage. "Are you all right?" she asked, checking his mouth. "What were they doing to you?"

The young man shuddered. "Th-they…they've been doing it to all of us…some of us turn…others just…split…" He turned over and vomited.

Wynne clucked soothingly and stroked his hair. "Is there anyone else here? Do you know where Irving is?"

He nodded. "They've been taking the enchanters up to the Harrowing chamber…everyone else they've been dealing with here…"

Wynne frowned and nodded. "Are you able to walk downstairs?"

He nodded. "There weren't many of us left, but if you can find them, save them."

"We will," she said. She rose to her feet and turned to the others. "We need to hurry, now," she said urgently. "The Harrowing chamber isn't far from here, follow me."

The group raced through the tower, killing any Abominations they came across and saving the few mages they were able to. As they turned a corner into another hallway, Wynne stopped and leaned heavily on her staff. "Are you all right?" Eruestan asked.

She nodded. "Forgive me, I'm fine…do you hear something?"

Someone was praying loudly at the end of the hall.

"Who's there?" Rowena called. "Show yourself!"

The praying continued, even louder than before. They walked forward slowly, all tensed for battle. As they turned the corner, they stumbled across a young man suspended in a magical cage.

"O Maker, hear my cry," he shouted, head facing the ceiling. He was suspended five feet off the ground, arms outstretched. There was a large door behind him; awful screams were coming from it. Tears streamed down his face. "Guide me through the blackest nights, steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked, make me to rest in the warmest places…"

"I recognize him," Wynne said. "He's a Templar."

Eruestan looked closely and started: it was Cullen, the man charged with killing him if his Harrowing had gone wrong.

"My Maker, know my heart," he sobbed. "Take from me a life of sorrow, lift me from a world of pain, judge me worthy of Your endless pride…"

"Ser Cullen," Wynne called. "Can you hear me?" The knight closed his eyes tighter and began praying even louder. "We need to destroy this cage," she said urgently. "I'm going to try to use the Litany…" She pulled it out once more and read from it. There was a flash of light and suddenly the cage vanished. Cullen collapsed to the ground.

"You're…you're setting me free?" he whispered, pushing himself up. "What type of trick is this?"

"It's not a trick," Eruestan said, kneeling down. "We're here to rescue you."

Cullen stared at him for a moment, then lunged at his throat.

"_Whoa_!" Alistair and Rowena grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him back, throwing him to the ground; Cormac stepped in front of Eruestan and growled protectively.

"Be gone, demons!" Cullen yelled, eyes shut. "You think I'll believe that he's here now, after every trick you've thrown at me? Every time you try this illusion I see through it – you will not fool me!"

"What's going on?" Eruestan asked. "Why's he saying that?"

"He thinks we're trying to trick him," Wynne murmured. "I can't imagine what he's been through – though I don't know why he's reacting so violently to Eruestan…unless…ah." She looked down, embarrassed.

"What's 'ah'?" Eruestan asked, frowning; Cullen, however, was clutching at his head.

"Why aren't you going away?" he moaned, swaying slightly. "That's always made you go away before…"

"I'm not a demon, Cullen," Eruestan said. "We really are here to rescue you."

"You always say that!" he cried. "Every time! Always teasing – always tempting! But I won't fall for it! Never again!"

Eruestan was ill prepared to respond to this. Rowena and Alistair had both coughed and looked away. Ignoring them, he focused back on the knight. He was shocked to discover that a Templar felt that way about him. "I'm not a demon, Cullen."

"Don't play with me!" he shouted. "I know what you are!"

"No, you don't," he said, trying to calm him. "You've only met me once, at the Harrowing ceremony."

Cullen opened his eyes and frowned at him. "How do you know that?"

"I was there. Plus, you told me about it afterwards."

Cullen grasped his head. "You never…you've never said that before…"

"That's because those were demons, Cullen," Wynne said gently. "They don't have access to those sort of memories outside of the Fade."

Cullen's face had gone pale. "I…no, you can't be real…"

"I am, Cullen," Eruestan said quietly. "I'm sorry you had to go through this."

Cullen wasn't listening. "If you're real," he said, getting on his knees, "you have to go in there and kill everything you find."

"We're not doing that, Cullen," Eruestan said firmly.

"_You have to_!" His scream echoed through the room; Rowena and Alistair fought to restrain him. "You have to," he said, calmer. "You haven't heard the things I have; no one could survive that without becoming an Abomination, no one! You have to kill them!"

"He's half out his mind," Wynne said. "We can't waste time here, let me take care of him."

"What's she doing?" Cullen cried, struggling to get away from her. "Keep her…away…from…" Blue light bathing his temples, he fell asleep under Wynne's spell.

"This will protect him while he sleeps," she said, erecting a large magical dome. "We need to get in there right away."

"He must have seen terrible things," Leliana said, shaking her head. "I wonder why they left him out here."

"Likely to play with and torture," Sten said. "They could not convert them, so they used him as a toy."

"Sten!" Alistair hissed, enraged. "Don't say that in front of Eruestan, that was his boyfriend!"

"What? He's not my boyfriend!" Eruestan suddenly found that he wished Cullen had been. "We've only spoken to each other once before!" Again, that felt like a wasted opportunity—but why? He had a lot of reflecting to do once all this was over. "Look, we're wasting time – we need to get in there now!"

The screams coming from inside the Harrowing chamber grew louder and louder as they drew closer. Wynne took out the Litany to prepare herself. "We need to figure out how to break these walls down," she said. "Blasting them with magic won't work."

"Have you tried opening them?" Leliana asked, notching an arrow back. "They might be unlocked."

"These are ancient doors, protected by powerful magic, Leliana," Wynne said. "I strongly doubt they will just—"

There was a burst of cold air as the screaming filled the whole room; Sten had pushed the doors open.

"Ah," Wynne said. "Never mind."

The group stormed in, weapons raised. By now the screaming had turned to a horrible gargling—Eruestan quickly saw why. The room was full of Abominations, all converging around a mage who was writhing horrifically on the ground. Above her stood a balding mage wearing the robes of a Senior Enchanter, his hands outstretched over her. A group of about thirty mages was huddled in a corner of the room – Eruestan recognized Leorah, Sweeney, and (to his immense relief) Irving. The mages looked greatly weakened; they were all watching the process in the middle of the room with resigned horror.

Wynne started to read from the Litany; however, before she could get the first word out, the mage jerked back her head and screeched in agony. Her back arched so violently Eruestan was sure she had broken it; her hands clawed at her face as her skin bubbled and grew raw. She was growing rapidly, soon twice her height with fingernails and teeth equally as long. With a final convulsion she collapsed to the floor, now an Abomination.

"Friends," the balding mage said in the new silence, "we have visitors."

The doors to the chamber slammed shut. Every deformed eye in the room was now on them. Eruestan's heart was beating so fast it almost made him sick; he gulped and tried to look intimidating.

"Uldred," Wynne said, voice trembling with rage, "you bastard. How could you have done this to the Circle?"

Uldred laughed, a high, brittle sound that echoed off the chamber's walls. "I believe the better question, Wynne, is how could the Circle have done this to me? How could it have done this to all of us? Look at the power I have!" He flicked his wrist; an entire section of Abominations crashed into each other, then blindly climbed back to their feet. "The Chantry could never give me magic like this."

"This magic shouldn't be had by anyone, Uldred!" Wynne shouted. "You've bonded yourself with a Pride demon! You've killed half the tower!"

"What are a few apprentices worth in the end?" he asked. "With their sacrifice, I have built an army that will win back the loss at Ostagar." His eyes flicked over the rest of the group. "You've brought quite a number of veterans from that battle with you…including dear old Irving's latest pet." He turned to Eruestan. "Tell me, boy, are you happy to join your mentor in my army of free mages?"

"N-never," Eruestan snarled, his voice cracking. "You'll never get me."

Uldred yawned. "I'm getting terribly bored of people who say that. It is time to obey."

Wynne pulled out the Litany. "Not so fast, Uldred," she said. "_Malefi—_"

The room went black and Eruestan was swept off his feet. He tried to stand up, then realized that he was paralyzed. Horrified, he threw all his strength into rising to his feet; nothing happened. Light flooded the room again; everyone else lay sprawled on the floor. Wynne had collapsed a few feet away from him, the Litany fallen to the ground.

"Ah, the Litany of Adralla," Uldred said, walking over; Eruestan was gripped with terror. "That's almost charming, Wynne." He threw a ball of flame at the parchment; there was a keening sound and the fire was extinguished. Uldred frowned. "I see. No matter—no one shall survive to use it, anyway." He turned back to the Abominations. "Bring me the next recruit!"

Eruestan couldn't see the other mages, but as the next victim began screaming tears began to well in his eyes. The same fate was now waiting for him and the rest of his companions. He had failed the Circle, he had failed Ferelden, and he had failed the world. He stared at the others—Rowena was struggling vainly to break free, Leliana seemed to be praying, Sten was glaring at the ceiling…and Alistair's right hand was creeping towards the Litany.

Eruestan's heart stopped. The scroll was a few inches from his friend's hand – moving seemed to be causing him pain. There was a flash of light—Alistair froze and looked up. Uldred's back was turned. He continued reaching for the paper; his armor was scraping across the stone, but the growing screams blocked out the sound. With a final burst of energy, he grabbed the parchment with the tips of his fingers. Eruestan thought his heart was going to burst; he glanced at Rowena and saw that she, too, was fixated on Alistair's progress. His face screwed up in pain, Alistair dragged it back slowly, his arms shaking wildly. Eruestan looked back at Uldred; he had finished with the newest Abomination, he was going to turn around…

Alistair brought the scroll to his face. "_Maleficarus sanguinis_!" he bellowed, sweat pouring down his face. The effect was instantaneous. Eruestan's bonds melted away; jumping to his feet, he erected a magical barrier between them and Uldred. Morrigan stood up and joined him. Alistair continued reading; the Abominations in the room froze. Uldred, however, turned around in fury and threw a wave of force at the magical shield. The two mages gasped in pain, yet held their ground. The shield stood.

"_Valeo, daemon, valeo_!" Alistair finished, looking up. The nearest Abominations shrieked in pain and fell to the ground. The others shook their heads as if confused; Uldred howled and threw another ball of energy at the barrier. Eruestan groaned in pain; it was as if Uldred had punched him in the stomach. The barrier still held.

"Why isn't it working?" Rowena cried. "He read it!"

"Alistair," Eruestan wheezed as Uldred attacked again. "Let me read from it, too!"

The knight brought the parchment over; ignoring his sudden urge to vomit, Eruestan began to read from it as well. As the two chanted the Litany, more and more Abominations keeled over—Uldred only seemed to get angrier. Eruestan now had a nosebleed from his efforts. "Read it again," he slurred. "We need more people to read it."

To his surprise, Sten leaned over Alistair's shoulder and began chanting as well. After the fourth repetition, Leliana joined in, closing her eyes to better remember the words. After checking on Wynne, Rowena tried to chant, too, emphasizing the phrases she was able to identify. Now all the Abominations had been killed; Uldred seemed to panicking slightly. "You cannot defeat me!" he shrieked. Throwing a hand out to the hole in the wall, he murmured a spell and summoned a massive lightning bolt from the darkening skies, throwing it at the barrier. Eruestan and Morrigan screamed in pain; fire was coursing through his body. Still, they both held, tears and sweat falling freely from their faces.

Chanting was now filling the room – the other mages had joined in, rising to their feet. Uldred was now twitching, his power diminishing. The lightning faded; enraged, he threw another ball of force at the barrier, desperate to bring it down. Yet the Litany surrounded him – he began to convulse violently, clawing at his face. With a terrible, horrible scream, a giant horned demon burst from his throat. It loomed in the room for a moment, then lunged for the barrier. For Eruestan, it was as if the ceiling had fallen in on him—to his side, Morrigan fainted. The barrier began to flicker dangerously—the demon was snapping its jaws at his face, he couldn't hold it any longer…then the demon howled and disappeared in a flash of light that rammed into the barrier, which finally broke as Eruestan, too, fell unconcious…

Someone was shaking him awake. He had a terrible headache; there was a bright light shining on his eyes, and the sound of waves was roaring in his ears. He opened his eyes and blinked. Irving and Wynne were peering down at him anxiously.

"He's awake," Wynne said, smiling; there were general sighs of relief. He was lying on the grass outside the tower; sitting up, he saw that Greagoir was standing a few feet away with the rest of the Templars, arms crossed.

"What happened?" Eruestan asked. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Seven hours," Wynne said. "You and Morrigan took quite a hit."

"Where is she?"

"She, the others, and the Templars are searching the tower for survivors and straggling Abominations," Irving said, beaming. "Thanks to you, though, that job will be relatively easy."

Eruestan blushed. "It was a group effort."

"Yes, yes, it was all very heroic," Greagoir said, walking forward. "But we still haven't discussed our plan of action regarding the tower's security."

"We are already patrolling the tower, Greagoir," Irving said, raising an eyebrow. "There isn't much more to do beyond tending to the wounded."

"You know as well as I do, Irving, that that isn't true. The level of contamination in this tower was so great that we need to reconsider our policy towards the survivors."

"What do you mean, 'reconsider'?" Wynne asked, frowning. "What is there to reconsider? They survived and now they're safe, there isn't more to discuss."

"Enchanter, any of these mages could be host to a malevolent spirit," Greagoir shot back. "Forgive me, but even you are at risk. We cannot take any chances."

"You see?" someone shouted from the doors; Eruestan looked over to see Alistair and Rowena carrying Cullen out of the tower. "I told you the Knight Commander would agree with me!"

"Silence, _bas_," Sten grumbled, walking out behind them. "You've been talking non-stop down the past five flights of stairs."

"Ser Cullen!" Greagoir said. "I am glad to see you, I—"

"Forgive me, ser," he interrupted, "but we need to talk straight away. I agree, these mages need to be exterminated."

"I didn't realize I had said that," Greagoir replied, frowning.

"Ser, you didn't see what I saw – you didn't hear what I heard." Cullen was talking very fast, spittle collecting at the corners of his mouth. "I swear to you, ser, no one, not even the First Enchanter, could have come out of that tower unpossessed."

"I didn't realize I was possessed," Irving said drily. "Amazing the things you miss during a demon attack."

Cullen ignored him. "With all due respect, ser, you _must_ stop this before it gets too late, the mages _have_ to be put down!"

"That's not happening," Eruestan said, rising to his feet. His head was throbbing. "The mages are our recruits for the Blight."

"That is not your decision to make, boy," Greagoir said, turning to him. "Let me handle my business."

"Don't talk to him like—"

"I'll handle this, Rowena," Eruestan said, holding up his hand. She glanced at him warily and fell silent. "I'm not a Circle mage, Knight Commander," he said calmly, staring Greagoir in the eyes. "I am one of the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden during a Blight. After the defeat at Ostagar, my order has a right to all resources that can end this threat, and that includes those of the Chantry. I hereby invoke this treaty in demanding the aide of all capable mages and," he continued, an idea popping into his head, "that of the Templars as well."

Greagoir stared at him. "Absolutely not."

"Absolutely yes," Eruestan replied. "First off, you have no choice. Second, you have no choice. Third, the darkspawn have powerful emissaries that can deal a lot of magical damage, so we need as many men as possible who can dispel their attacks. Finally, you have no choice."

Alistair and Leliana looked horrified; Rowena was grinning gleefully. "Someone should tell you to work on your negotiation skills," the Knight Commander snapped.

"I'm not negotiating," Eruestan said. "The Templars will play their part in this Blight just like everyone else. You will lead them against the darkspawn."

Greagoir's face was black. "Very well," he spat. "If you'll excuse me, I need to find out how many of my men were killed in this attack – unless of course you want us to march to battle now?"

"Feel free to do whatever you need," Eruestan replied, looking at him squarely. "We will expect you on the field when we call."

"Wait," Cullen said, horror spreading across his face. "You're…you're not going to do anything? Ser! The mages!"

"Let the Warden deal with your babbling, he's in charge now," Greagoir snarled. "Get out of my way!"

"Eruestan," Cullen pleaded, turning around; his eyes were almost tender. "Eruestan, you have to—"

Eruestan's cheek flushed. "You heard what I told Irving, Cullen," he said quietly. "I stand by what I said."

The Templar stared at him; any glimpse of tenderness he had thought he saw disappeared. "You'll pay for that," he hissed. "All of you will pay!"

"He seems stable," Irving said as Cullen stormed off. "Well, Eruestan, that was the sternest brow-beating I've ever seen Greagoir receive – I wonder if we shouldn't start calling you the First Enchanter instead."

"First things first, ser," Eruestan said, watching Cullen leave. "We have a situation that needs your help – the arl of Redcliffe's son has been possessed by a demon, we need the Circle to try and save him."

"Maker, is everyone becoming possessed these days?" Irving muttered. "When I was young, we only ever wanted to set the Templars' breeches on fire."

"Which, if I remember correctly, was equally as destructive," Wynne said, grinning. "Especially for poor Ser Gillian."

He shrugged. "She got better. Regardless, I'd be happy to send help along to Redcliffe."

"I will lead the delegation, Irving," Wynne said. "But then I must ask your permission to leave the Circle."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The Wardens are fighting an impossible battle against an enemy ten times as dangerous as the ones we faced," she said. "If I can help them, I will – provided they will take me."

Eruestan glanced at the rest of the group; there were enthusiastic nods all around, except from Sten, who said nothing. Morrigan still wasn't there. "We'd be honored, Wynne."

"Wynne, the Circle needs you now," Irving said, furrowing his brows. "We have to rebuild."

"Which you can do without me," she said. "You'll bring the Circle back to what it used to be without my help. My skills are better used against the Blight."

"Very well," Irving said, still frowning. "I'll arrange for our best remaining healers to accompany you to Redcliffe." He turned to leave, then paused. "Eruestan…I am very happy to see you. You have done the Circle proud."

His knees went weak. "T-thank you, ser," he said, blushing. "It's good to see you, too."

As Irving left, Wynne looked at the rest of the group and smiled. "I have a good feeling about this," she said happily. "I look forward to getting to know all of you."

"You only say that because Morrigan isn't here," Alistair said. "Where is she, even?"

"I am right here, Alistair," Morrigan said, walking out of the tower. "And while we discuss the details of our lives, perhaps there might be an interesting tidbit to share with our new companion?"

"Oh?" Wynne asked. "What's that?"

Alistair had flushed bright red. "Uh…right, well, you remember King Maric?" She nodded. "My father."

"Oh." She stared at him for a moment. "Are you sure?"

"Now, now, don't use such big words around him, Wynne," Morrigan said; she and Alistair began arguing; Eruestan started walking away, smiling to himself.

"Eruestan!" He turned around; Rowena was running up to him. "I just wanted to say that you did really well with Greagoir," she said, smiling. "Although I don't think the Wardens technically have as much power as you said."

"Well, Greagoir didn't know that," Eruestan said. "I figured I'd try to bluff him."

She stared at him, then laughed. "Maker, you're scary when you're assertive."

"Let's hope the arch-demon thinks so, too," he said. "One ally down, though."

"Three more to go," Rowena said. She grasped his hand. "I think we can do this, Eruestan."

He smiled at her. "You know what? I think we can, too."

* * *

_Yet again, huge apologies for the massive delay! I'm in my last year at university and life has definitely gotten in the way - plus I'm trying to develop some of my own original work. No excuse for this, though! I always appreciate the wonderful support I get from everyone here (especially the ever-patient and ever-wonderful mille libri) and I hope to keep up with this better in the future!_


	23. On the Edge of Desire

Denerim was quiet. Teyrn Loghain didn't like it.

It was very late at night – the fire in his bedchamber had long since gone out, leaving only the candle on his desk as a source of light. That he didn't mind; he had been raised in the cold and the dark, after all. The quiet, however, gave him too much time to think.

Ferelden was in terrible danger. Reports were already pouring in that the darkspawn were moving slowly towards the southern Bannorn, razing villages to the ground and slaying thousands. Refugees were pouring into the capital faster than he could keep a handle on – the areas around the gates had turned into shantytowns overnight. Crime was rising steadily, and food shortages were looming in the distance. Anora had promised to take care of that, but with the ideas she had he couldn't be sure she wasn't planning on selling the country to Orlais.

Anora…his daughter had refused to speak with him after their confrontation, sending updates to him on the situation in the city through her ladies. Her accusation had cut him to the bone. He had not killed Cailan – not intentionally. The king's death had been the price for a free Ferelden, surely she could see that? No matter – the only people who had enough clout to damn him were the Grey Wardens, and they would be dealt with soon enough.

There was a gentle rap at his door – Arl Howe stepped into his chamber. "My lord," he said, bowing, "I believe I've found the solution to our…situation."

He motioned to someone in the shadows – a young elf with long blond hair stepped forward. "My lord," he purred in a thick accent, "the Antivan Crows send you their regard."

Loghain stared at him silently for a moment. "You don't see many Crows in Ferelden."

"Many Fereldans have seen us," the assassin replied. "They just did not live to tell their friends."

"I hope your confidence lives up to your abilities," Loghain said. "Your targets won't be easy ones."

"Others have said the same," the assassin noted. "Yet all my transactions have been completed easily enough."

"He's been briefed on the particulars, my lord," Howe said. "All we need do now is find the Wardens."

"A service that I can provide," the assassin said. "Once furnished with a small sum, of course."

"I'm not in the habit of paying for services before they're completed."

"And I am not in the habit of doing work for free," the assassin said. "I'm afraid the advance is non-negotiable, yet you have my guild's reputation as your guarantee."

Loghain sighed. "Very well. Anything to rid me of these Wardens. Howe, pay him what he's owed." The arl bowed and led the assassin out of the room. The teyrn returned to his brooding at the window. All this would be resolved soon enough. He would save Ferelden; all he needed was to be patient.

* * *

It was almost twilight by the time the boats rolled into the harbor at Redcliffe; the ride over had been silent, everyone too exhausted and sunburnt to attempt to talk. Still, as her boat touched shore, Rowena couldn't help but think of when she had first arrived at Redcliffe years before.

"This was how we'd come when I was a kid," she said, breaking the silence. "It's like traveling through time."

"Excepting the demons and darkspawn, I imagine," Morrigan said; behind her, Leliana groaned and flopped out of the boat, lying flat on the ground.

Rowena sighed. "Thanks for the reality check, Morrigan. Yet again."

"You were here as a kid?" Alistair asked. "When?"

She shrugged. "Arl Eamon throws the best Satinalia feasts in the country, everyone knows that. Even King Maric used to come. I first went about ten years ago, with my parents – I teased Fergus about it for months, he had to stay at home…" Her voice trailed off; it hurt too much to think of Fergus.

Alistair didn't notice. "Wait a minute, I remember you! You were the bossy girl that forced me to go on the stable roofs!"

She paused. "I've made a lot of people do that…"

"I went without supper for three weeks!"

She winced. "Whoops."

"Not that this isn't adorable," Leliana said from the ground, "but I'm about to throw up all over your feet, so I'd suggest moving."

"Right!" They hopped out of the way – Rowena almost crashed into Eruestan. "Whoa there – come back to the real world, Fadewalker."

He started and shook his head. "Sorry!" he said. "I was just thinking of what's waiting for us up in the castle."

"I'm not too concerned," Alistair said. "After killing a whole tower full of demons, what's one more going to do to us?"

"Every demon is different, Alistair," Wynne said, walking up to them. "Eruestan is right to be worried."

"I still don't see why Irving couldn't have given us the Litany," Rowena said. "I don't care how priceless and unique it is, if someone's possessed here we should have it."

"It wouldn't work here," Wynne sighed. "The Litany might kill the demon, but it would kill Connor, too. If we want to keep him alive, one of us will have to enter the Fade and kill it from there."

"One?" Rowena said. "Why bring all these mages if only one can go in?"

"We need them to provide the energy," Wynne said. "Entering the Fade requires a massive source of power – if we had enough lyrium, we could have brought fewer mages. Unfortunately, most of our stores were destroyed or used up in the attack."

"I've always wondered what lyrium tastes like," Leliana said, color slowly returning to her face. "I had to help unload it at Lothering, it always looked like liquid lightning to me."

Wynne grimaced. "And it tastes like liquid despair, trust me."

Murdock and a group of villagers were approaching the harbor. "Wardens, there ye are," he growled. "Where the hell have ye been? We've been waitin' all day fer ye!"

"We ran into some trouble at the Circle," Eruestan said. "What's the situation at the castle?"

"The same. That damn blood mage has kept the boy locked in his room fer the whole time, but he's still a bloody demon, Maker knows."

Wynne turned to Eruestan and Rowena. "Blood mage? What does he mean, blood mage?"

"Right," Eruestan said, flushing. "I was trying to figure out what the best way to tell you would be…this wasn't it…"

"Eruestan," Wynne said; her tone reminded Rowena of her tutor during her hardest lessons. "Tell me exactly what's going on here. Now."

"We're not in any danger," he said quickly. "Not from Jowan, at least."

Wynne drew in her breath sharply. "Jowan is behind this?"

"No!" Eruestan said. "Well, yes, definitely yes – but also no. Everything I've said about Connor is true, it's just that the mage I was talking about happens to be Jowan…"

Wynne was rubbing her temples. "Right, well, wonderful. Now we have to fight a demon _and_ a maleficar. Maker's breath, I should have grabbed the Litany while I had the chance…"

"Ye know, ye probably won't 'ave to fight 'im," Murdock said. "'E's not that bad a bloke, really. Been makin' us tea and everythin'."

Wynne glared at him. "Maleficar can still make tea—oh, never mind. Just take us to the castle."

Bann Teagan was waiting for them at the castle gates. "Wardens," he said, bowing, "I'm glad you're well. Are these the only mages you could find?"

"We'll explain later," Rowena said. "How's Connor?"

"Jowan has sealed him in his room," the bann replied. "Hm…I hope we don't need to interrupt his macramé lessons, the children seem to really like them…"

Wynne stared at him. "Macramé?"

"He's very good at making hats," Eruestan said quietly.

Wynne shook her head. "This is by far the worst blood mage I've ever heard of."

The bann led them into the castle. Rowena was pleased to see that most signs of struggle were gone: there were no longer any corpses littering the floors and most of the bloodstains had been scrubbed clean. Only the occasional broken door or scratch marks revealed any sign of a fight at all. Villagers were filling the roles of the servants; they all fell to their knees before them, murmuring words of praise.

Teagan led them up a small flight of stairs. Soon, Rowena could hear the sounds of someone giving a short lesson. "Not too tight, Gemma," Jowan said, looking at a young girl's yarn work. "You're going to shrivel the rest of your scarf."

"Bah!" Isolde scoffed. "It is not tight enough! It will all fall apart!"

"Lady Isolde, for the fifth time, my grandmother learned this technique from the Marquise de Val Chevin herself," Jowan said. "She was her lady's maid – I know what I'm doing!"

"Well, I learned to macramé from my own grandmother, thee Duchesse de Val Colline!" she snapped. "Do not pretend to know more than me!"

"I'm not pretending to—oh, no, Gemma, don't cry, it's all right, this isn't about you—Maker's sake, Your Ladyship, just let me macramé!"

"Erm…excuse me," Bann Teagan said, clearing his throat. "Isolde, the Wardens have returned."

Everyone turned around. "Thank the Maker!" the arlessa cried. "Wardens, do you know anything about the art of macramé?"

Rowena frowned. "Uh, no, I can't say that I do."

"I can knit," Alistair offered.

"And I can embroider!" Leliana threw in.

"Bah, that is useless to me, it must be macra—"

"What is the matter with you people?" Wynne said. "Is there a possessed child here or not?"

The room stared at her for a second. "Oh! Right," Isolde said, rising to her feet. "Forgive me…this 'as been an odd week..."

Rowena noticed that Eruestan had grown a little tense. "Jowan," he said, glaring at the mage, "this is Wynne, one of the Senior Enchanters at the tower."

"A—a pleasure, Wynne," Jowan said, bowing.

She nodded coldly. " Where is the boy being held?"

Jowan flushed and led them down the hall. "I used blood magic to seal him in," he said; both Eruestan and Wynne flinched slightly at the word. "I think Connor's being held by a Desire demon—it's been nourishing him with energy from the Fade."

Rowena thought of what had happened to Niall. "Will he rely on the demon to be kept alive?"

Jowan shook his head. "Only Sloth demons drain life force from their victims; the rest try to keep them around for as long as possible."

Wynne stepped back and peered at the markings on the door. "I must say, this is a remarkable cage," she said. "A pity it had to be constructed with blood magic."

"Will you be able to get beyond it?" the arlessa asked.

"The cage won't be a problem," Wynne said. "All we need is a volunteer to slip into the Fade and free him."

"That'll be me," Eruestan said. "I've definitely got enough experience killing demons at this point."

"Then there's no time to waste," Wynne said. "All the non-mages need to leave the room now – everyone else, form a circle around Eruestan."

As she helped usher the children from the room, Rowena glanced over her shoulder to catch Eruestan's eye. He smiled gently and she nodded reassuringly back – then the door closed and the chanting began.

* * *

_He was in the Fade before he realized it. One minute the chanting had filled the room and the next it was gone, replaced by an oppressive silence. Connor's door glowed enticingly in front of him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and the tips of his ears began to tingle – there was great power nearby._

_Someone was yelling; he looked up to see an older man in fine clothing running towards him. "Who's there?" he yelled, looking around frantically. "Connor! Where are you?"_

"_Are you Arl Eamon?" he asked; the arl paid him no attention. _

"_Connor!" Eamon yelled. "Connor, can you hear me?" He disappeared down a hallway, his cries swallowed by the silence. _

_Connor's door swung open; someone was crying and the sound was filling the hallway. He stepped through, ears almost burning now. Connor was huddled in one corner. _

"_W-who are you?" he asked, face white. "I…I n-need to find my parents, please go."_

"_I'm here to help, Connor," he said, walking towards him. The child flinched. _

"_Don't come any closer!" the boy yelled. "You just make it mad!"_

_It was too late. The door slammed shut; Connor yelled and hid behind his bed. A shiver of power went down his spine; he turned around slowly and saw a horned, purple demon standing in front of him, much like the one at the Circle tower. _

"_No tricks this time," it said. "I won't insult you like that. My sister should have been more…courteous…"_

"_Very kind of you," he replied. "I'll try to be more polite when I kill you, too."_

"_A violent nature," it said, shaking its head. "How unnecessary. All I want to do is talk."_

"_I don't talk to demons."_

"_And think of everything you're missing because of it," it said. "There are benefits to being my friend. Look what it gave Jowan – the ability to fight Templars and seal me in my own prison."_

_He shook his head. "I'm not interested in blood magic."_

"_But think how useful it could be," it purred. "The darkspawn have blood, as all mortal things do – use it against them, make them fall upon each other like the beasts they are. Such power!"_

_He hesitated, a moment too long. It laughed and walked toward him. _

"_Give me the boy," it hissed, "and I'll give you all the power in the world."_

_For a second his throat swelled; then he swallowed and said, "No."_

"_Stubborn brat!" it shrieked. Suddenly there were seven of them. The furniture was flying through the air – Connor screamed and cowered back in his corner. Jumping away from the demons, he blasted a chair to bits with magic and sent the shards of wood flying at his enemies. Two copies were impaled and instantly disappeared in a flash of light. There was a large scraping behind him – he spun out of the way as the giant dresser hurtled past, slamming into the demons instead. Two remained; one clawed at his face, drawing blood. He zapped it with lightning; it disappeared as well. _

_He looked up and Cullen was standing before him, naked. _

"_Hello, Eruestan" he said, reaching out a hand. _

_The room had become a little warm; still, he shook his head and said, "I thought you promised me no tricks."_

_Cullen snarled and lunged for him – he shot an ice spike flying through his chest. Cullen screamed and transformed back into the demon, collapsing dead to the floor. _

_Eruestan panted, trying to regain his calm. To his side, someone was moving. "Is it gone?" Connor asked, taking his hand. _

_He smiled. "Yes, Connor, yes it is."_

* * *

"You know, this really isn't bad macramé," Rowena said the next morning, tying a yarn collar around Cormac's neck. "Too bad he got involved in blood magic and not tailoring."

"He used to say that it relaxed him," Eruestan said, yawning. "He was good to the point where he was able to make earholes for me."

They were all sitting in a guest room eating a large breakfast. Tearful with gratitude, the arlessa had given their party the best rooms in the castle the instant Eruestan had returned with her son. The improvement a good night's sleep and a hot bath had on their nature was remarkable.

"Isolde's right, though," Leliana said, draping a scarf over her shoulders. "They're not tight enough, they'll be falling to pieces soon."

"This is ridiculous," Sten said, peering at a pair of mittens. "There are holes in this. How is this supposed to keep someone warm?"

"It's more about the style, Sten." Alistair was wearing enough to resemble a very colorful sheep.

"It still doesn't seem right to throw Jowan back in the dungeons, though," Rowena said, adjusting her own wool hat. "All he did was help us."

"He's a maleficar, Rowena," Eruestan said. "We can't afford to let him roam free."

"Yes, lest he go and protect other innocent children from demons," Morrigan said from her window seat. "Or worse, he may cover the country in macramé."

"A greater threat than the Blight, I think," Sten muttered.

Eruestan sighed. "Regardless, I agree with Bann Teagan. Once Arl Eamon is healed, we can let him decide what to do about Jowan."

There was a knock at the door; Wynne walked in, looking weary. "How's the arl?" Rowena asked, frowning.

She shook her head. "Not well. Nothing we tried has had an effect."

"What does that mean?" Alistair asked, taking off his hat.

She shrugged and sat down. "Frankly, I don't know if there's anything more we can do."

"That is not true," Isolde said, walking in with Bann Teagan. "I 'ave provided a perfectly viable alternative."

"With all due respect, Your Ladyship, searching for the Urn of Sacred Ashes is certainly not a viable alternative," Wynne said, frowning. "The Urn has been missing for 900 years, it might as well not exist."

"That is where you are wrong," Isolde said, pouring herself some tea. "Brother Genetivi was quite confident that 'e 'ad found a promising lead – all 'e needed was the chance to find it."

"_The_ Brother Genetivi?" Wynne and Eruestan said at the same time.

The arlessa looked up in surprise. "You know 'im?"

"He's a personal friend," Wynne said, frowning. "He's visited the Circle many times."

"I've only read his books," Eruestan said. "But they're some of my favorites, especially _Travels of a Chantry Scholar_."

"Then you know that Brother Genetivi is not a man to be taken lightly," Isolde said. "If 'e claims to 'ave found the Urn, then 'e 'as truly found it."

"Where is he now, then?" Rowena asked. "Where did he say the Urn was?"

Isolde paused, flushing slightly. "I…unfortunately, the good brother 'as disappeared as of late. I 'ave sent men to the four corners of Ferelden in search of 'im."

"So he's dead," Sten said.

"I refuse to believe that!" the arlessa snapped. "'E 'as survived much worse – if 'e 'as found the Urn, 'e is likely still in pursuit of it. In any case, the Urn is still our best option! It's 'ealing powers are legendary – it will cure my 'usband, of that I am sure."

"If I can throw a word in," Teagan said, "I've met with this Genetivi, and he did seem extremely convinced that he'd found the location of the Ashes. Whether or not his testimony hold any weight is up to you."

"Unfortunately, it does," Wynne said. "For me, at least. Brother Genetivi is a scholar of the highest order. He may be a member of the Chantry, but he does not let his faith cloud his judgment. If he claims he's found the Urn, it's very likely that he has."

"I agree with Wynne," Eruestan said. "Genetivi's very objective, his word can be trusted. The question now, though, is if it's worth trying to find him."

"What do you mean?' the arlessa said, setting down her teacup. "Of course it is! It will save the life of my 'usband!"

Eruestan and Rowena exchanged a look. "I think what Eruestan's saying," Rowena said, "is that we need to decide both that the Urn will actually work, even if we manage to find it…"

"…and if it's worth the effort to save Arl Eamon," he finished, voice calm, although Rowena was fairly sure his ears were flushing underneath his hat.

"But of course – you must – you 'ave to save Eamon!" the arlessa spluttered. "Teagan, tell them why they must save your brother!"

The bann cleared his throat, glaring at them. "Beyond the obvious favor you'd be doing for our family," he said, "Eamon's political clout cannot be ignored. My brother has ruled Redcliffe for more than 30 years. If anyone can unite the Bannorn against Teyrn Loghain, it's him."

"You couldn't?" Eruestan asked.

Teagan hesitated. "My reputation amongst the nobility is a little…tarnished…" he said cautiously. Rowena suddenly remembered a series of rumors involving a sheep and several Nevarran prostitutes. "I would not be quite as effective."

"Bann Teagan's right," Alistair said. "People respect Arl Eamon, they'll rally to him, I know they will."

"And regarding the Urn, if we can find it, it will heal him," Leliana said. "The Sacred Ashes of Andraste can perform countless miracles. Whatever poison has gotten to him, they can counter it."

"Besides, it's not like we have a whole lot of other options," Alistair said. "We need the arl to be healed, and Wynne just said she's exhausted everything she could do."

"That is true," Wynne said. "I don't like the idea of a goose chase, but it might be all we've got."

"'Tis all some horrible joke, surely," Morrigan said, standing up. "You cannot seriously be considering scouring the country looking for the lost remains of a crazed woman in the hopes that they will cure one old man!"  
"I don't like this one," Isolde said.

"I agree with her, though," Rowena said; eyebrows shot up around the room. "It's not that surprising," she said, frowning. "The Urn may be powerful, but we've got no idea where to find it. Hell, we don't even know where this Genetivi is, let alone whether he's found the Urn or not."

"'Is 'ouse is in Denerim," the arlessa offered. "My men 'ave searched there, of course, but perhaps you will find something there they did not."

Eruestan looked lost in thought. "Is the arl as important as they're saying?" he asked Rowena, not looking at anyone else. "What would your family say?"

"The same," she admitted. "Eamon's popular, he really would be able to unite the Bannorn. Even my father would have gone to his aide."

He sighed and pinched his nose. "Say we go to Denerim, take a look around his house. We find something, great; we keep looking for him. We don't…well, we cut our losses. What do you think?"

She reflected on this for a moment. It was a week out to Denerim and a week back. Not too much time would be lost – what's more, she could find out where Arl Howe was hiding once they entered the capital. "I can work with that," she said. "What about the rest of you?"

"Reasonable," Alistair said.

"I agree," Wynne said; Leliana nodded beside her.

"You are all giant fools," Morrigan snapped, sitting back down.

"Undoubtedly," Sten said. "Though I wonder what idiocy will be waiting for us there."

"Always inspiring, Sten," Alistair said.

"All right, then," Rowena said, turning around. "We're going to Denerim."

* * *

_Thank you to everyone for the amazing support! Feel free to review and happy Thanksgiving to everyone in the US! _


	24. Song of the Crow

Time spent between killing and sex was time wasted. Zevran Arainai had known this for several years, and his time in Ferelden only seemed to be proving him right.

Even riding through the open Bannorn was doing nothing for him. Open as it may be, it was also flat, dull, and reeked of wet animals. The landscape left him too much time with his thoughts and with his memories, both of which he didn't need to concentrate on. He needed a distraction immediately, else he risked plunging his dagger into his skull.

"Mira," he called from his horse, "how many dwarves does it take to clean a chandelier?"

She rolled her eyes. She was a thin Fereldan woman with strawlike hair, fast reflexes, and a slight odor of dog. He had slept with her on their first night outside of Denerim. "I don't know, Boss. How many?"

"Ten," he said. "One to do the job, the other nine to praise the 'fine dwarven craftsmanship'."

Orryck snorted. "That one was almost funny, Boss." He was a broad-shouldered warrior from Starkhaven in the Free Marches. Zevran had slept with him on the second night.

"I get better with time, no?" The wind ruffled through his hair, and he felt very dashing. He liked feeling dashing. "Another one – what did the Viscount of Kirkwall say when the Princess of Starkhaven presented him with a new hunting hound?"

Orryck seemed less fond of this one. "I don't know, Boss."

"'A lovely gift, Your Highness, but why on earth are you on all fours?'" Mira burst into laughter; Orryck looked less pleased. Still, he shook his head and said, "There's a mistake there, Boss. A dog's too pretty to mistake for the Princess."

Zevran laughed. Unfortunately, that had been his last joke. The familiar agitation threatened to come roaring back. "Mira, tell me, how many days is it to Redcliffe again?"

She shrugged. "Two or three, depending on how fast this lot moves." She gestured back to the thugs the Crows had hired for them. Zevran could tell they'd been assigned to him for a particular reason: was it punishment?

"We can find ways to inspire them," he said. "What do Fereldan men like?"

"Cheap ale and easy women," Mira replied.

Zevran considered this. "You Fereldans may not be so bad after all."

One of their scouts was riding towards them. "Boss!" she shouted. "Travelers up ahead!"

"Be calm, my friend," he said. "I doubt they mean us any harm." She paused. "Unless, of course, you think they might?"

"There's a Qunari with them, ser," the scout said. "I thought it might be our targets."

"That, or Qunari are popping out of the ground like the damn darkspawn," Orryck growled.

Zevran was frowning. "We were told the Wardens would be in Redcliffe."

"Tell them that." She pointed to the group approaching from the nearest hill. He did a quick scan, mentally matching them to the descriptions laid out in the contract. There was the Qunari—the exotic witch—the pale elf—the red-haired girls—the handsome idiot knight. The only difference was that now an elderly mage was traveling with them. He felt for her – she picked a bad time to join the Wardens. But why weren't they in Redcliffe?

The two groups were now face-to-face. "Excuse me," the elf said; he had the type of face Zevran admired the most, delicate, defined with bright eyes. He'd been trying hard to forget faces like that. "We've been arguing about where we're heading for ages—do you know if this is the road to Denerim?"

Zevran nodded, trying to find their weakest link. "You have the right road, my friend. The city is but two days from here."

There were several sighs of relief. "I told you we had the right route," the idiot knight said.

"Perhaps, Alistair, if you did not have the tendency to make a complete fool of yourself 99% of the time we would be more inclined to believe you when you actually said something correct."

"Oh, wow, a scathing insult from Morrigan, what an out-of-character moment for you."

"You did a very nice job directing us, Alistair," the elder mage said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "And you're very clever, Morrigan."

"Thanks, Wynne," the knight said, beaming. The witch just scowled.

"Well, anyways, thank you very much!" the elf said to Zevran. "Safe travels!"

"Same to you, my friend." He watched as the group disappeared down the road.

"What should we do, Boss?" Mira asked. "Go after them?"

He shook his head, thinking. "They are too strong for us, too many spellcasters. We willl need to ambush them to even the odds." He already knew the perfect spot outside Denerim to wait.

"Should we tell the Arl?" Orryck suggested. "Have him arrest them?"

"No," Zevran said, "that would be a failure for the Crows, and a failure for the Crows means a bit of torture for us."

"So what do we do, then?"

"We sit down and we wait," he said. "And then we set our trap."

* * *

"Wynne," Alistair said that morning, "are you _sure_ you can't patch up my socks? I'm going to have blisters otherwise."

"Alistair, when I say that I don't know how to darn socks, I really mean that I don't know how to darn socks," she said. "What makes you think I do?"

"Well, you know, you've got that grandmotherly feel about you."

"I'm flattered."

"Oh, no like that," he said quickly. "You know, you just seem very nurturing, that's all."

"Nice save, Alistair," Eruestan said.

"It's true, though!" Leliana said. "You have a very kind soul, Wynne – you remind me of Lady Cecilie, the woman who helped raise me in Orlais."

She beamed. "That's very sweet, thank you."

"Besides," Leliana continued, "you're very young-looking for your age."

The mage paused. "Well, I suppose I can appreciate the compliment behind that."

"If we've finished discussing Wynne's advanced age," Sten said, "I suggest we start discussing our plan for entering the city. We will soon reach Denerim."

"Do you think we'll be recognized?" Rowena asked. "They can't be expecting us."

"Every Fereldan who has seen me up to this point has seemed ready to wet themselves. I imagine they'll recognize me."

"Oh, I figured that out ages ago," Leliana chirped. "Here!" She pulled an Orlesian mask from her backpack. "I stole this from the arlessa's dressing room. She had it hanging on her wall, she wasn't using it – you can pretend to be a chevalier if you put your hood up!"

He raised an eyebrow. "No."

She raised hers back. "Would you prefer being thrown into a Denerim dungeon? Trust me, it will be much less comfortable than the one in Lothering."

He mulled that over for a moment, then grabbed the mask. "Fine," he said, "but don't expect me to do the accent."

"Can you do an Orlesian accent, Sten?" Alistair asked. The Qunari stared at him with his mask on, then turned around and kept walking. "Ok, great, good talk."

"Ah, this is so exciting!" Leliana said, skipping ahead. She had woven flowers into her and Rowena's hair that morning; some of them fell out as she pranced. "I haven't been to Denerim in _ages_ – though the last time did not end so well…" Her voice trailed off as she started to frown. "But no matter! It's quite lovely, especially for Ferelden!"

"It is nice, isn't it?" Rowena said, smiling. The city had always been exciting for her – she had won the Denerim Tourney the last time she had been. It was a beautiful and bustling place, full of interesting people. Turning around to say something, she caught sight of Alistair staring at her, smiling slightly. Realizing that she saw him, he blushed and looked away.

"You know, I'm originally from Denerim," Eruestan said. "I left when I was four, but I wonder if my family's still here…"

"Do you still remember them?" Rowena asked.

He shook his head. "Only bits and pieces."

"More than most mages," Wynne remarked. "My own family abandoned me in a barn when I was a child."

"How awful!" Leliana said in horror. "You must have been terrified!"

She chuckled. "I can't say that I blame them. I took a liking to fire spells at that age; when the Templars found me I'd already roasted all of that poor farmer's chickens."

Eruestan laughed. "A bit hard to imagine you doing that now."

Wynne winked. "That's only because you haven't seen me around any chickens."

Rowena chuckled and looked over to Alistair. He looked troubled now. "Are you all right?" she asked gently. "Excited to get to Denerim, too?"

"Huh? Oh, right…" He shook his head. "Sorry…I was just thinking of Duncan. I was with him the last time I came to Denerim."

She smiled sadly. "When was that?"

"Almost five months ago, at this point…" He was silent for a moment. "I had just seen my first darkspawn; he really helped me work through it…"

She put a hand on his shoulder. "You'll avenge him, Alistair," she said. "Loghain will pay."

He nodded slowly. "Yes, he will…but enough of that. Sorry I brought it up."

"Anytime," she said. "I'm always here to listen."

He smiled. "Well, thank you, I—oh, wait, this fell…" He bent down and picked up a daisy that had come undone from her hair. "Here, if you want I can…" For some reason her heart was pounding; she nodded and let him place the flower behind her ear. In doing so, his hand accidently brushed against her cheek. It was rough, but gentle and timid, and suddenly Rowena couldn't help but notice how awfully handsome he actually was…

"Uh, hello?" Eruestan called out; they both started and looked over. He and the rest of the group were some thirty feet ahead of them. "Are you two coming? Because the city's this way."

"We're coming!" she yelled back, heart rate returning to normal. Flashing a grin back at Alistair, she dashed ahead, hair streaming behind her.

As she got to the top of the hill, Rowena was suddenly hit by a wave of nostalgia. She had been in a carriage the last time she'd seen the walls and towers of Denerim. Fergus had been driving her crazy since they left Amaranthine. She had just been about to punch him when they started to approach the city and her mother had told her to behave. She suddenly found herself blinking back tears.

"Are you all right?" Alistair was at her side.

She grunted and nodded. "Got dust in my eyes. Let's go."

A long line of people was waiting to get into the city as they drew closer. Leliana had somehow secured a spot near the front—whether through the force of her personality or the fact that a masked Sten was towering behind her, Rowena couldn't tell.

"Keep in an orderly line, people!" one of the guards was yelling. He and his fellows had created a line to block out the throng of people. "The city's not going anywhere, there's place for all of you!"

"You haven't marched all the way here from Gwaren!" one of the men shouted; he was carrying a mattress on his back and a small child in his arms.

"Well, you're used to waiting, then!" the guard shot back. "Hold it, you. State your name and business."

"Name and beezinuss?" Leliana said, amplifying her accent by a factor of ten. "My beezinuss? Arténice, can you believe zat zees man weeshes to know our beezinuss?"

Rowena realized that she was supposed to be Arténice. "Uh…eet eez a scandal, completely _incroyable_."

"Oh, Andraste's bleedin' tits," one of the guards moaned. "Bloody Orlesians…"

"I am Marie-Sauvanne, chief maid to Lady Eugénie," Leliana snapped. "My seester and I 'ave been scouring ze countryside weez our guards to find ze eggs of the 'ighest quality for our lady! 'Ow dare you question us!"

The guards looked up at Sten. "Maker's breath," one of them breathed, "what are they bloody feeding you chevaliers?"

"Zere are many more like 'im in Lady Eugénie's 'ouse'old." Leliana squared her shoulders. "So? Weel you let me _entrer ou pas_?"

"Bella, don't your sister work for Lady Eugénie?" one of the guards asked; Rowena felt her heart stop for a moment.

The other guard nodded. "Kate's always going on about it, says the whole house is full of them damn Orlesians."

Her partner sighed. "What's the country bloody comin' to—fine, fine, pass through, though Maker knows we don't need any brutes like this one in the city."

"If I wanted to pass, I would have passed," Sten said from behind his mask.

The guards frowned. "You don't sound Orlesian…"

"Zank you, _au revoir_!" Rowena said, grabbing Sten's arm and dragging him forward.

"Well done, Rowena!" Leliana whispered as they walked through the gates. "Your accent's quite good!"

"Making fun of Orlesians is the Fereldan national pastime," Rowena whispered back. "We don't have to keep using them, though, do we?"

"Oh, no, of course not, no one will be paying attention inside the gates," Leliana said. "This is so much fun, though! I love sneaking into cities pretending to be something I'm not! Oh! Look!"

They had walked out of the gates into the giant Denerim marketplace. Brightly colored tents filled the square as vendors and buyers yelled at each other, haggling for food and goods. Dogs and children ran everywhere; Cormac whined, wanting to join the fun.

"Not yet, boy," Rowena said, scratching his head. "Denerim's not quite safe for us."

Eruestan was consulting a map. "Genetivi's house is down that way," he said, pointing down a row of stalls. "Stick together, everyone, there's no point in stopping to browse, we've got very little money."

"Oh, but Eruestan," Alistair said, stopping in front of a weapons stand, "look, they've got longswords – Sten, Rowena, check it out…"

"Fine crafted dwarven wares," the dwarven salesman said to them. "Fresh from the forges of Orzammar themselves."

"Well, we're fresh out of money, so no thanks," Eruestan said, pushing them along. "Let's just keep moving and—"

"Oh, Rowena, Morrigan, look!" Leliana gasped. "What lovely dresses! And the shoes!"

Eruestan frowned. "Leliana, we have to—is that a bookseller? Wynne?"

Rowena smiled as the two mages hurried over to the book merchant. She walked up to Leliana's booth. "So what's going on here?"

"Latest fashions in dresses and shoes, ser," the merchant said. "I have last year's fashion books, too, taken from the tourney. I'd have made new ones this year, but with the Blight there wasn't anything new to look at."

"Oh, look at the queen's gown, I love that gold thread," Leliana cooed, flipping through the pages in the catalogue. "She must be so lovely in person."

"She is," Rowena said; she noticed Morrigan gently toying with a gold necklace. "You know, that would look really nice on you, Morrigan," she said. "It matches your eyes."

Morrigan drew her hand away quickly, as if she'd been burned. "Would it? I didn't notice," she said. "I was just…looking at the shoddy workmanship, that is all." She turned around abruptly and walked towards the bookstand.

"Ooo, these are pretty," Alistair said, walking up to them. "Are you going to get anything?"

She shook her head. "I'm all right, but Leliana sounds like she might."

"Shh," the bard said, staring intently at the book. "I'm studying, I haven't been able to catch up on fashion in ages…oh! Look! Rowena, it's you!"

Surprised, Rowena looked over her shoulder and laughed at the red-haired girl drawn on the page. "They put the blue dress in? I liked the green one a lot more."

"It still looks beautiful," Alistair said; she smiled at him. Sten sighed and walked away.

"So _that's _what Eleanor Cousland looked like," Leliana said in satisfaction. "People in Orlais would always talk about her whenever Ferelden came up. She was very beautiful, too."

Rowena tried to ignore the pangs in her heart. "You would have liked her, Leliana," she said. "She was very clever, always knew how to handle people."

"You must miss her," Alistair said quietly.

She looked up at him and nodded. "I miss all of them," she said. "Every day."

"Look, all this murmuring's nice for you and everything, but are you going to buy something or not?" the merchant said.

Rowena glanced down at the necklace Morrigan had been looking at. "Yes, how much for this?"

As the woman took her gold, Eruestan walked forward, trying to shove two books into his backpack. "I'm a disgrace," he said, huffing.

"Not all our money needs to be practical," she replied. "We should get to Genetivi's house, though. We don't want to spend the night in the city."

They made their way down an alley and turned onto a spacious, well-paved street. Rowena walked up to the house Eruestan had pointed to and knocked. There was silence for a moment, then a boy of roughly her own age opened the door.

"Oh!" She blinked in surprise. "Brother Genetivi…you're…young…"

"No, this isn't him," Wynne said, frowning. "I'm sorry, we must have the wrong home."

"No, this is Brother's Genetivi's home," the boy said. "I'm just his assistant, Weylon. I'm afraid he's not here, though. Genetivi's been missing for months."

"We know," Eruestan said. "Arlessa Isolde of Redcliffe sent us here to look for him."

The boy scoffed. "Every week a different knight comes from Redcliffe looking for clues. What more do you think you could find here?"

"That's for us to say," Rowena said. "Do you mind if we come in?"

He hesitated, then stepped aside. "Be careful, though, I just cleaned the floors."

As she stepped inside, Rowena had the instant impression of walking into a library. Books lined the walls, filled chests, covered tables – it all made her a bit dizzy. Otherwise, the house was clean, quiet, and softly lit.

Eruestan walked over to the main table in the center of the room and picked up one of the books. "These are all on the Urn," he said, rustling through the pile. "He could have noted something in any of these."

"Genetivi hates writing in books," Weylon said. "If he found anything, he'd have written it down in his notes."

"And where are his notes?" Wynne asked.

He shrugged. "With him, unfortunately."

"And he didn't tell you where he was going?" Leliana asked, turning around from a bookshelf. "Strange way to treat an assistant."

"I wasn't his research assistant, just his housekeeper," Weylon said. "He comes and goes all the time, I'm just supposed to keep the house in order while he's gone."

"Did he leave anything behind?" Eruestan asked. "Maps, scrap paper?"

"If he did, I probably threw it out," Weylon replied. "Like I said, I never know where he's going. For the first two weeks, I didn't even realize he was missing. I do a deep clean after he leaves, anything he left behind was probably destroyed."

Rowena began examining a shelf near the back wall. Suddenly, she was aware of a terrible smell coming from the back wall. She drew closer to the door by the shelf; the smell grew stronger. "Morrigan," she murmured, "do you smell that?"

The witch nodded. "'Tis the stench of decaying flesh."

Rowena turned around. "Excuse me, what's behind this door?"

"That's Genetivi's bedroom," Weylon said. "He's doing some experiments on putrefaction, I trust you will not do him the dishonor of disturbing them."

Rowena was almost fooled; Leliana was not. "You're hiding something," she said sharply. "What's really behind there?"

Weylon frowned; Rowena noticed his hand twitch slightly. "What? You're crazy, I'm not hiding anything."

"Open that door," Eruestan commanded. "Tell us what's going on!"

"Nothing's going on!" Weylon was growing pale. "You can't go in there!"

"Like hell we can't." Rowena took a look at the door – it was relatively flimsy, made of old wood. Appraising its weak points, she took a deep breath and kicked it down.

The smell tripled in intensity; behind her, someone yelled in rage. She turned around to see Weylon rushing at her with a knife. There was a flash of fur; Cormac buried his teeth in the man's leg and threw him to the ground. "Cormy, heel!" Rowena said sharply as Weylon screamed in pain; the Mabari drew back, still snarling in his face. "Sten, Alistair, hold him down."

While Weylon struggled in the main room, Rowena and the others made their way into the bedroom. The stink was horrible; Rowena wanted to retch. A small bed was shoved into the corner; on a work table a cow carcass was rotting on top of a white tablecloth.

"Was he telling the truth?" Eruestan asked, face pale.

"He wasn't," Leliana said. Pinching her nose, she walked over to the work table and lifted up the table cloth. "There we are."

Rowena felt sick. The maggoty, decayed corpse of a young man was lying underneath. "That's not him, is it?"

Wynne shook her head, lips curled in disgust. "Too young, too tall. Brother Genetivi's a short man."

They returned to the main room. Weylon was struggling more feebly now; his face was white from blood loss.

"I see you've met Weylon," he spat, shaking. "Didn't know what to do with the body – those knights were too honorable, they didn't want to invade someone's private space."

"Who are you?" Rowena barked. "Where is Genetivi?"

"Andraste will preserve me," he said, shuddering; he was gnawing on his fingers in pain. "Her fires will purify me."

"Wynne, help me stop the bleeding," Eruestan said, bending down by his leg. "We need him to answer our—"

'Weylon' started to scream, making everyone jump. Then his voice started to gargle – to Rowena's horror, his skin starting sizzling. Burning holes were appearing in his throat; his flesh seemed to be melting. With a final twitch he collapsed, his throat now a gaping, ugly hole.

"Andraste's ass!" Alistair jumped away from him, hands in the air. "What just happened?"

"Acid," Sten said, peering at "Weylon's" hands. "He was wearing a ring that bore a vial of it. Someone sent him here."

"Check his body," Leliana said, "I'm going to his bedroom, see if I can't find anything about him."

Rowena helped ruffle through the man's pockets. Aside from the keys to the house and a grocery list, they were empty. "Any luck, Leliana?"

"I think so," she said, walking in with a piece of parchment. "Take a look at this."

She put the parchment down on the table; everyone else crowded around her.

_Disciple Hakor,_

_Thou hast truth spake – the Brother Genetivi hath this Thriday past to Haven came. Thou must in the lowland kingcity remain – should the thame of this brother prave halth as large as thou speaketh, many shalt come him to seeke. Hath courage, disciple: our lady Andraste protecteth her servants. _

_Disciple Gort_

"Gort?" Alistair asked. "What kind of name is 'Gort'?"

"Such a strange dialect of Fereldan," Wynne said, frowning. "No one's spoken like that for seven hundred years, I imagine."

"Where's this Haven?" Eruestan asked.

She shook her head. "No place I've ever heard of."

"Well, it says the 'lowland kingcity'," Alistair said. "That means they have to be from the western mountains, right?"

"That could be anywhere, though," Rowena said. "The Frostbacks stretch over the entire border with Orlais."

"Hm…" Leliana was frowning. "He said Genetivi didn't write in any of his books…that may have been a bluff…"

"Leliana, there have to be 1000 books in here," Eruestan said. "We don't have time to—"

She grabbed an atlas off the shelf and threw it on the table, flipping it to the section on Western Ferelden.

"Well, ok, that might be a good start," he admitted, "but Haven could be anywhere, you can't just expect to find it circled on a—"

"Found it," she said, pointing to a circle on the map. "It's near a peak called the Dragon's Mouth in the central Frostbacks. It's right off the Western Road, too, look."

He looked defeated. "Well, good, then. I'm glad you found it.'

"The Frostbacks are far," Wynne said. "It will take a long time to get there."

"All the more reason to get moving now," Rowena said. "Let's head out."

She opened the door back outside; an arrow with a bright blue plume was jutting out of the doorframe. "Um, guys? I think the world's worst assassin is trying to attack us."

"Give me that!" Leliana snapped. She yanked the shaft out of the wood and examined it closely, peering at the arrowhead. Rowena saw a small "M" that had been gracefully carved into the metal. "I know who did this," Leliana said grimly. Her face was expressionless.

"Who was it?" Eruestan asked.

"She won't hurt us," Leliana said. "She just wants to send a message." She snapped the arrow in half and threw it to the ground. "Let's get out of here."

She marched ahead before anyone else could say anything. Exchanging looks, Rowena and Eruestan shrugged and began to follow her.

The sun was setting by the time they left the city. Rowena could tell that patience was running thin.

"I'm telling you, we should have stopped in a tavern and gotten something to eat," Alistair grumbled. "I don't want to cook."

"Stopping in a tavern would be asking to get arrested," Leliana said. "The food in prison is even worse than your cooking."

"You haven't tried my mystery stew, then."

"Mystery stew?" she asked. "What's that?"

"Can't say," he said, "it's a mystery."

"Fine," she sighed. "I'll cook."

"Either way I shall not eat," Morrigan sniffed.

"By the way, Morrigan," Rowena said, sidling up to her, "I have something for you."

The witch raised her eyebrows and turned to her. "Is that so? Another senseless chore, perhaps?"

Rowena smiled and pulled out the necklace. "Not quite."

Morrigan blinked and took the gold chain. She walked in silence for a moment, and then said, "What do you want from me?"

Rowena frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You are obviously trying to win my allegiance, thus you must have some task in mind for me," she replied. "What do you wish me to do?"

"Nothing," Rowena said in disbelief. "I just wanted to do something nice."

Morrigan raised an eyebrow.

"Look, I can take it back if you don't want it," she said, now slightly annoyed.

"N-no, 'tis fine." Morrigan looked unnerved. "I…no one has ever given me a gift before, I'm not quite sure what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," Rowena said, touched. "It'll look nice on you."

"Thank you, Rowena," Morrigan said quietly. "I greatly appreciate this."

Acting on impulse, Rowena went in to hug her; the witch took a giant step back. "I fear we have not quite reached that point yet," she said, eyes wide.

"Right, right," Rowena muttered, embarrassed. "Sorry."

"Someone's coming," Sten said suddenly, stopping in the middle of the road. "They're running as well."

Before Rowena could ready herself, a young woman ran around the corner, panting heavily. "Oh, thank the Maker," she said, gasping. "We've flipped our cart, we need help getting it back over. Please, you have to help!"

She led them back around the bend into a small valley; Rowena struggled to make them out in the fading sunlight. A group of men was standing around an overturned cart in the center; a blond elf was on top of it. "Thank you for your help!" he said in an Antivan accent.

Rowena froze and drew her blade. She recognized that elf. "It's a trap!" she yelled. "Fall back!"

There was a rumbling and an explosion – the rocks of the valley entrance collapsed on top of them. Rowena raised her shield and waited for the collision – it didn't come. Confused, she looked up and saw that a bright blue light was emanating from Wynne, suspending the rocks in the air. Rowena had never seen such power before – it almost looked as if the blue light was rising from Wynne's throat. With a giant scream, the mage thrust her hands to the side, blasting the rocks away. As the blue light faded, she collapsed to the ground.

"Wynne!" Eruestan raced to her. She waved him off, clutching her side.

"Go!" she gasped. "I'm all right!"

Rowena spun around and drew her blade, quickly examining their assailants. The valley was full of them; it was the entire mercenary troop they had come across on their way into the city. Leliana had already climbed on top of a rock and was firing arrows at them. The woman who had tricked them was attacking her; she was quick, dodging each of Rowena's blows. Her war axes crashed against Rowena's shield—she was pushed back slightly by the force. The assassin spun around, trying to attack her again—Rowena ducked below it, then lunged out with her sword, piercing the assassin's stomach. As her first attacker fell to the ground, a second one took her place; Rowena blasted him aside with her shield and stabbed him through the head.

She cut down a handful of other combatants and then took a quick moment to reorient herself. Eruestan and Morrigan were throwing spells into the fray; Sten and Alistair were fighting their own group of enemies. Things definitely seemed to be going in their favor.

Something flashed past her face – a throwing knife was embedded in a tree behind her. Suddenly the blond elf was right in front of her, attacking in a whirlwind of powerful blows. She steadied her shield and quickly changed her stance, allowing for faster footwork. The elf lunged forward, almost stabbing her face with his dagger. She bent back and then snapped forward, trying to do the same to him. He spun away from her sword; she bashed him to the earth with her shield. She plunged forward – suddenly he threw a cloud of dirt in her eyes. She closed them immediately, trying to maintain her stance. He attacked from her side, knocking her off her feet. Sight blurred, she raised her shield as he leapt at her, dagger ready to strike…when out of nowhere a large rock bashed him in the head, knocking him unconscious to the ground.

Blinking dirt out of her eyes, Rowena looked over to see Morrigan lower her staff. "Thanks," she called out, climbing to her feet; the witch nodded back.

The fighting had finished; Eruestan returned to Wynne's side. "Are you all right?" he asked, frowning. "Here, let me see if I can heal you…"

"I'm fine, I'm not injured," she said, rising to her feet. "Just ran out of energy, that's all. No need to worry."

"You collapsed, Wynne," Eruestan said, frowning. "That's not something to just ignore."

"I'll explain later," she said quietly. "For now I'm fine." He shook his head, but turned back to the group.

"So, what was that about?" Alistair asked. "Hired assassins?"

"Why don't we ask him?" Leliana said, pointing to the blond elf. He was stirring slightly, head bleeding.

"Hold him down," Eruestan said, walking over to him. Sten and Rowena yanked him to a kneeling position and grabbed his shoulders; Rowena noticed that his arms were very well-defined, with delicate tattoos outlining his muscles.

Eruestan stepped forward and snapped his fingers; the elf's eyes fluttered open. "Aye, _santo Creatore_," he groaned in Antivan. "What did I drink last night…"

"_Basta, bastardo_!" Rowena and Leliana said at the same time. They paused and stared at each other.

"You speak Antivan?" Rowena asked in shock.

"Of course I speak Antivan," Leliana said. "You speak Antivan?"

"And I do too, what a happy occasion, yes?" the elf said. "Maker, my head…"

"Shut up," the two of them said again.

"Why did you attack us?" Eruestan said, standing over him, arms crossed.

"I was hired," the elf said. "Though I must say, most of my targets are less skilled than you…less attractive, too, but I suppose now is not the time for flattery."

"You suppose right," Eruestan said, though Rowena could see that the corners of his mouth had turned up slightly. "Who hired you, then?"

"Teyrn Loghain and Arl Howe," the elf said without pause.

Leliana raised an eyebrow. "You gave that up awfully easily."

"I have no loyalty to either of them," the assassin said. "Nor do I have any desire to be interrogated, considering that my life is already forfeit."

"Why's that?" Eruestan asked.

He hesitated. "Perhaps a formal introduction would explain my situation. My name is Zevran Arainai, Master Assassin of the Antivan Crows."

"Really?" Leliana asked, face lighting up. "Oh, that's so exciting! And it explains so much!"

"Does it?" Rowena asked.

She nodded. "He's failed his mission – we're still alive. The Crows will have to kill him. And if the Crows want to kill someone, they usually succeed."

"Recent events excepting, of course," the assassin said. "However, I am not fond of the idea of dying; thus, I would like to make an offer to you."

"This ought to be good," Eruestan said.

Zevran winked. "It's nothing _that_ fun, my handsome friend – but let us get to business." Eruestan rolled his eyes, but to Rowena's glee his ears had flushed. "I offer you my services in exchange for your protection," he continued. "I travel with you, and you keep the Crows away."

There was a moment's silence, then most of the group burst into laughter.

"'Offer us your services'," Alistair said, wiping his eyes. "What would that be, a friendly knife to the throat while we sleep?"

"'Tis such a stupid idea, one would think you came up with it, Alistair," Morrigan said, chuckling. "We should invite Teyrn Loghain to travel with us, t'would be just as ridiculous."

Eruestan and Rowena, however, were exchanging a significant look. To her, it made sense that he'd want extra protection from the assassins – Alistair's joke aside, Zevran couldn't seriously hope to kill all of them while they slept, especially with so many people keeping watch. There was no denying that he was skilled, either; she had fought him, after all, and almost lost. "I think it's a good idea," she said.

"I do, too," Eruestan said quietly.

There was another pause. "_What_?" everyone said.

"He just tried to kill us!" Leliana said, eyes wide. "You can't seriously be considering this!"

"Why not?" Eruestan asked. "You said yourself, the Crows are after him now, he needs protection. Why betray us then?"

"That also means the Crows will target us, too, though," Wynne said, eyebrows furrowed.

"The Crows are already targeting us," Rowena said. "Zevran might be able to identify traps or attacks."

"Or lead us into them," Sten growled.

Leliana shook her head thoughtfully. "He's already failed, he's dead to the Crows – even if he gave us to them, they'd still attack him."

"She is correct," the assassin said. "The Crows do not like failure."

"And I don't like assassins," Alistair said. "Do we really want to do this?"

"I think so," Rowena said. "He could be useful."

"I enjoy being used," the elf said, winking. "Especially by such good-looking users."

She gave him a withering look. "Actually, on second thought…"

"Look, he's no longer a threat to us, and his skills could really help us," Eruestan said. "I vote he come with us."

"As do I," Rowena said.

Leliana hesitated. "So do I."

"I do not," Wynne said, shaking her head. "There are merits to keeping your enemies close, but that has its limits, too."

"Yeah, I don't like it," Alistair said. "Get rid of him now, we don't need him."

"I agree," Morrigan said. "Kill him now and end our troubles."

Alistair looked at her in surprise. "Morrigan, you agreed with me!"

"Hopefully for the last time," she muttered.

Rowena turned to Sten. "It's your decision, then, Sten," she said. "We're at an impasse otherwise."

The Qunari looked down at the elf for a moment; Zevran put on a smile that he clearly thought was quite charming. "A man's worth is not determined by his past, but by his future," he said. "It would be a mistake to let our recent dealings with this man distort our view of his skills. I say we let him come."

"Ugh, fine," Alistair said. "But I'm not taking watch alone with him tonight."

"Welcome to the group, Zevran!" Leliana said brightly. "We have lots of fun together, and we're going to the most interesting places! Right now we're looking for the Urn of Sacred Ashes!"

He raised his eyebrows. "The Urn of Sacred Ashes?"

"It's kind of a long story," Rowena said. "We'll fill you in."

He winked. "One of my favorite sentences – though I wish I had heard it from the lips of your beautifully busted friend."

Wynne blinked. "Are you…are you talking about me?"

"Most certainly," he said. "Tell me, _bellissima_, are you single?"

Rowena sighed. It was going to be a long Blight.

* * *

_Thank you again for all your fantastic support (especially the wonderful mille libri)! I hope everyone had a nice Thanksgiving (or day if you don't celebrate it). Reviews are welcome! _


	25. Blood of the Outsider

"Ok, this one _has _to be the road to Haven," Leliana said, studying the map she had torn from Brother Genetivi's atlas.

"You said that about the last three roads, Leliana," Eruestan said, trying to ignore the pain in his feet. "So far all we've found is a bunch of snow and some dead trees."

"Do not be so pessimistic, my fine-looking friend," Zevran said, starting to walk up the road. "They were very tall dead trees, at the very least."

Eruestan didn't know whether to laugh or to scowl. They had been on the road for two weeks now, and the assassin was already acting as though they'd been friends for decades. He commented on everything anyone did; he took nothing seriously and obviously had a much higher opinion of his own wit than anyone else around him. Eruestan had noticed, however, that anytime anyone asked too many questions about his past, Zevran found a way to change the subject. Evidently not all things merited a joke.

"Slow down a bit, Zevran!" Rowena called. "Let's make sure we've got the right road this time."

"What difference does it make?" he asked. "We take the wrong road, we get a lovely view of the mountains, we go back down and try again. Where is the harm? And yet again, call me Zev – my friends call me Zev."

Alistair snorted. "Who says we're your friends?"

"You wound me, Alistair."

"Zev, be quiet, you're distracting me," Eruestan said, trying to concentrate on Genetivi's map. The assassin's tattoos and muscles were rather distracting, too, but there wasn't anything anyone could do about that.

"You see? Eruestan calls me 'Zev'."

"Eruestan's more forgiving than I am," Alistair said, crossing his arms.

"Alistair, my friend, why hold onto the grudges of the past? Let bygones be bygones."

"You tried to kill us!"

"And who hasn't tried to kill you?" Zevran asked. "You'll never make any new friends if you hold onto that attitude."

"Good!" Alistair said. "I don't want to befriend people who are trying to murder me!"

"Both of you!" Eruestan and Leliana snapped. "Quiet!"

"Look, there aren't any other roads in the area," Wynne pointed out, looking at the map with them. "If it's not up here, it's not anywhere."

Eruestan sighed. "I just wish there were a sign, a road marker, anything."

"Something tells me these people do not wish to be found," Morrigan said. She had been wearing a new gold chain since they left Denerim; Eruestan wondered where she found it. "I doubt we'll find any sign that they are here."

"Good point," he said. "Fine, let's head up the road – but not so fast, Zev, we don't want to charge into this village if they're going around killing people."

"Killing people is my specialty," he replied. "But, seeing as you, unlike some people, have called me Zev, I shall comply."

"I'm gonna kill him," Alistair muttered.

"Somebody's jealous," Rowena teased, walking next to him.

"What? I'm not jealous! What would I be jealous of?"

"There's another good-looking, funny blond in the group," Eruestan said. "You feel threatened."

"I do not! I've got tons of stuff going for me that he doesn't!"

"Quite right, Alistair," Morrigan said. "You are still the group idiot, after all."

He scowled. "Thanks, Morrigan."

They continued climbing up the slope. The air was bracing; every now and then a burst of wind barreled down the mountain, slamming into them. The view, however, was magnificent. The Bannorn stretched out below as far as the eye could see; Eruestan had never seen such open space before.

"The beauty attracts your eye, my friend," Zevran said, coming up to him out of nowhere. "Fitting – like goes with like."

Eruestan smiled in spite of himself. "I don't know about that – but it is breathtaking. You don't get views like that at the Circle of Magi."

"Ah, the famous Tower of Ferelden," Zevran said. "I have heard many stories of life in your Circle."

"I shudder to think what those might be," Wynne said from behind them. "Outsiders get the strangest ideas about what we do."

"Orgies," Zevran said. "Free love everywhere. Blood-fueled sex rites under the full moon."

Wynne paused. "Fair enough, actually. Besides the blood part."

"Not for me!" Eruestan said, laughing in shock. "What are you enchanters getting up to?"

"Physical expression!" Zevran said. "Are you so against pleasure, _amico mio_?"

"Of course I'm not," Eruestan said, raising an eyebrow. "I just haven't partaken, that's all."

"_Never_?" The assassin sounded horrified. "Not once?"

He vaguely remembered a horribly awkward moment in a dark corner of the tower when he was sixteen. "Nothing enjoyable, at least."

"Well, no wonder you are so stressed! This must be rectified, my friend, sooner rather than later." He bowed before him. "My services will always be there for you should you need them."

His heart raced; still, he managed to smirk and say, "We'll see about that."

"The same applies to all my fellows," he added loudly. "Particularly Wynne and her extraordinary bosom."

"Stop talking about my bosom," Wynne hissed. She suddenly stopped and leaned against her staff. "I'm fine!" she said quickly. "Just…lost a bit of energy for a moment."

Eruestan furrowed his brow. As infrequent as her faint spells were, something about them made him very concerned. "You know, Wynne," he said quietly, "you never did explain to me about what's happening to you."

Her face grew a bit stiff. "I don't know if now's the time…"

"We may be about to enter a village full of bloodthirsty killers," Eruestan said. "We might not have many more opportunities to talk about it."

She sighed. "Fine—though don't tell the others just yet, I don't know how they'll handle it…I'm fine," she said, looking at the expression on his face. "I'm not in any danger, nor is anyone else, I'm just in a…delicate situation."

"Define delicate," he said.

"Back at the Tower," she said, carefully choosing her words. "I…died."

He blinked. "You…you what?"

"I used too much energy," she said. "My barriers drained me, and when the demon attacked I died. I saw myself fall to the ground – I could feel myself start to enter the Fade."

Eruestan wasn't sure what to say. "So…are you a ghost?"

"Not quite," she said, smiling. "Before my spirit vanished totally, I was suddenly surrounded by a great warmth and strength. It was a force I recognized – I've spent a great deal of time in the Fade, and this spirit was a friend I had made long ago."

Eruestan didn't like where this was going. "Ok…"

"The spirit brought me back," she said. "It's what's sustaining me now. That's why my energy comes and goes – I depend on a spirit for my life-force."

He stopped short. "Wynne," he said. "You're an Abomination."

"You don't like to mince words, do you?"

"Sorry," he said, blushing. "But it's still true."

"I know," she said, looking straight ahead. "I'm not fully comfortable with the idea myself. But know that this spirit is friendly, it only wishes to help."

"Uldred thought the same, I bet," he said quietly.

Wynne's head snapped toward. "Do _not_ compare me to Uldred," she said, voice quiet and firm. "I did not bring this upon myself."

"But it still happened." The two mages stared at each other for a moment. "I need to think about this, Wynne," he said, looking down. "I know you mean well, but this goes against everything the Tower has ever taught me. But I won't tell the others – that's up to you."

"I appreciate that," she said, voice gentler. "I understand how difficult it must be for you – it was for me as well. But I truly think this spirit wishes to help."

He started to say something else; however, at that moment someone called out to them from up ahead. "Eruestan, Wynne!" Rowena shouted. "We've found it!"

By the time they had reached the others, they had all crowded around a small gate in a low-lying wall. "Are you sure this is it?" Eruestan asked.

"How many hidden mountain villages can there be?" Leliana asked. "This has to be it."

"That, or we spend the next five years scouring Ferelden for a village that may not even exist," Sten growled. "Regardless, I am cold. We might as well ask to come in."

Rowena picked up a rock and rammed it into the door, creating a loud bang that echoed in the mountain air. There was a moment's pause; then a small hatch in the gate opened up. "Who goeth herein?" a man yelled, sword bared. His Fereldan was strange and archaic, as if speaking from a history book. "Wherefore come you to Haven?"

Eruestan and Rowena exchanged a look; they had already decided how to approach this. "We're travelers," she said. "We thought we might trade here and pass the night."

"How did you us find?" the man asked, frowning. "No sign lieth upon the path."

"We guessed," Eruestan said. "There's usually at least a trading post up these mountains."

The guard was silent for a moment. "Outsiders are not welcome in Haven," he said.

"We won't stay long," Rowena said. "Just for the night."

"Very well," the man said. "The inn lieth at the core of the village. You shalt go there direct and stay till the morn."

"Of course," Eruestan said. "Can we come in now?"

The guard closed the hatch, then opened the gate. "Welcome to Haven, Outsiders."

They filed in through the entrance and took in the view that waited for them. The village consisted of about fifteen houses, a tavern, and a small chantry on the hill above. Behind them, the sun was setting; the villagers were hurrying to get home, many of them stopping and staring at the outsiders who had just arrived.

"Doesn't look too dangerous," Alistair murmured as they walked towards the tavern.

"Don't fall for it," Eruestan said. "Remember Weylon."

A small child stopped them in their tracks. "Wherefore are you in Haven?" he asked, crossing his arms. "Outsiders are not supposed in the village to be."

"We're just staying the night," Leliana said, crouching down. "What's your name, little man?"

He glared at her for a moment, then yanked her hair and raced across the village square. "_Ow_!" she said, standing straight up. "Why, that little—"

"Let's get to the tavern," Eruestan said, looking over his shoulder. "That guard is still staring at us…"

"I don't like this place," Alistair said. "The sooner we get out of here, the better."

They walked into the tavern; the few villagers sitting around the fire turned around to glare at them. Ignoring them, Eruestan went up to the barkeep. "We'd like to rent a few rooms for the night," he said.

The barkeep stared at them. "Outsiders are not—"

"Welcome here, yeah, yeah, we get it," Alistair said. "We have the coin to pay for it."

"Lowlander coin hath no worth in Haven," the barkeep said. "Hast thou somewhat to trade?"

"No coin?" he asked, shocked. "I don't…do we have anything?"

"Take this," Zevran said, pulling a silver amulet off his neck. "I have no use for it."

"Are you sure?" Eruestan asked, concerned.

He nodded. "It is the sign of the Crows. It is nothing now."

The barkeep examined it. "Quality silver. This shalt suffice. I have two rooms for thee and thy band – they lieth above the stairs." He paused. "Thy hound must outdoors remain."

"I don't think you want to try to separate us," Rowena said. Cormac started to growl softly.

The barkeep gulped. "Very well. The hound may with thee rest."

"Perfect," she said. "Thank you!"

The group sat down around the fire, Rowena holding Cormac's collar. Eruestan gave Leliana a look; she cleared her throat and turned to the nearest villager. "So it appears you don't see very many strangers in these parts," she said warmly. "That must make life rather boring."

"Life in Haven is perfect," he said. "Hence our reasoning for disliking outsiders."

"Right, right," she said. "Have you had any other visitors, though? Anyone passing through?"

Eruestan noticed that everyone else in the tavern was suddenly paying close attention to her. "Not to my knowing, no," the man said, sipping from his mug.

"Huh," she said, examining her nails. "Funny, we met a man a while ago who couldn't stop talking about Haven – his name was Genetivi, maybe he came by here?"

He set his mug down. "This is not a name of which I know. But halt thy asking – thou shalt many in Haven anger should thou asketh more."

"Of course," she said. "My apologies, I was just curious."

"Be not so, then." He turned around and went back to his drink.

"I think we should go upstairs now," Rowena murmured, glancing around the bar. "We're not going to get anything from anyone now. Tomorrow we take a look around town, see if we can't find Genetivi."

Nodding to the barkeep, the group made their way upstairs. "Ah, now it is time to divvy out the beds," Zevran said, rubbing his hands together. "Who wishes to bunk with me?"

"Not it," everyone else said.

He sighed. "Oh, come now, all joking aside, I am a very respectful man. You can sleep safely next to me – unless of course you have more than sleep in mind, in which case I will be more than willing to oblige you."

"Gee, makes you wonder why we have trouble trusting you," Alistair said.

Eruestan sighed. "I'll do it, Zevran. But keep the innuendo to a minimum."

"Now _that_ I cannot control," the elf said, winking. "Come join me in bed, my fine friend."

"I already regret this," Eruestan muttered, trying to hide a smile as he walked into room.

"As Rowena is the only one left of you who does not annoy me, I shall be with her," Morrigan said, walking into the other room.

"And I'll bunk with Wynne," Leliana said.

Alistair scratched his head. "So that leaves me with…Sten…"

The Qunari scowled at him. "Hog the blankets and you won't survive the night."

"Eruestan!" Alistair called hastily. "I'll trade with you!"

"Zevran might be just as dangerous," Rowena said, winking.

He shrugged. "Between death and being fondled, I prefer living. Besides, Zevran looks like he knows what he's doing, I might even enjoy it. And at least I don't have to share a bed with Morrigan."

"I like Morrigan," Rowena said. "Her heart's in the right place."

"Provided she even has one…but hey, better you than me." He smiled at her. "Be sure to practice those meditation techniques I taught you; the more you do them, the better you'll be able to resist magic."

"You're worse than my old tutor," she teased. "But I will, don't worry."

"Great." He really did have a wonderful smile; she enjoyed being the reason behind it. "Have a good night."

"You too," she said, walking into the next room. "Try not to let Sten kill you."

* * *

It had been a long time since Eruestan had shared a bed with someone. The bunks at the tower were narrow to discourage the apprentices from spending the night together; it was a rule regularly broken, but one that he had always followed. Having someone there now was both strange and, to his chagrin, exciting.

Zevran, however, _was_ very respectful, and had turned away from Eruestan towards the rest of the room. He in turn was nestled against the wall, making sure that his breathing was as quiet as possible. On the other wall, Alistair was rolling around on the floor mumbling about sheep in his sleep, long since kicked out of the bed by Sten.

"Does he always do that?" Zevran murmured out of nowhere.

Eruestan started; he'd thought the assassin was asleep. "I don't know. Camp's usually too loud to hear anything like that."

"Hm. He should be careful to not say anything he might find embarrassing."

"Rowena, don't…" Alistair mumbled loudly. "Sheep…painful…don't…get hurt…"

Zevran sighed. "Ah, young love. How sweet." There was a moment's pause. "You should relax, my friend."

Eruestan blushed and looked over. "I'm perfectly relaxed."

"You have not moved nor made a noise for an hour, and yet you are awake," Zevran said, turning around. "Either you are a trained member of the Crows, or you are tense because you worry about disturbing my rest. As your many talents do not yet include killing for pay, I must imagine that it is the latter."

Eruestan smiled in spite of himself. "Sorry, I didn't want to bother you…"

"Be at ease, Eruestan," Zevran said. "You do not bother me."

There was something very reassuring about that. Eruestan shifted into a more comfortable position. Zevran turned back around; smiling, Eruestan closed his eyes and almost instantly fell asleep.

_A giant dragon was giving a lesson back at the Circle tower. "What is the transmutability of the average hurlock?" it growled, smoke pouring from its nostrils._

_He didn't know the answer. "I…is it 4?"_

"_NO!" Fire was pouring out of the dragon's mouth, engulfing him in flames—_

Someone was screaming in the room; at his side, Zevran was leaping out of bed. Disoriented, Eruestan shied away from him, wildly thinking that the elf had tried to assassinate them again. Instead, he quickly realized that the assassin was struggling with someone else, while a third person was writhing around on the floor. Alistair and Sten were rising to their feet on the other side of the room; waving his hands, he sent a ball of light flying to the ceiling. One of the villagers was thrashing on the ground, clutching at a throwing knife lodged in his throat. In the meantime, the barkeep was trying to fight off Zevran who, now aided by the light, reached forward and slit the man's throat with his other knife.

"Andraste's bleeding ass!" Alistair shouted. "What the hell is going on?"

Suddenly Cormac was barking; there was a cry and a loud crash from the other room. Fifteen seconds later, their door burst open. "We just got attacked!" Rowena cried, hair wild. She paused and looked around their room. "Ah. Seems you already knew."

"Is there anyone else in the tavern?" Eruestan asked sharply.

"I will check," Zevran said, exiting the room. Rowena peered over the villagers and whistled.

"Leliana did the same thing," she said, pointing to the man with the knife in his throat. "Bad way to go."

"I don't feel that sympathetic," Eruestan snarled. "We need to find Genetivi now." He went out into the hallway; Wynne, Leliana, and Morrigan were already there.

"Does _everyone_ want to kill us?" Morrigan asked; her clothes were lightly splattered with blood.

"Well, you are very exciting targets," Zevran said, climbing the stairs. "The tavern is empty. There are not very many places to hide."

"Let's get out of here, then," Rowena said, tying her hair back. "Be on your guard; for all we know, the entire village is waiting outside for us."

They left the inn, weapons tense. The night air was crisp and cool; the village was silent; the only lights coming from the chantry's torches. Zevran walked over to the nearest house and opened the door. "There's no one here."

"Here either," Rowena said, peering in the next one. "Where are they?"

Eruestan walked over to the house nearest him and pushed the door open; he yelped and jumped back. A pale, grotesque face was leering back at him, upside down. For a moment he was paralyzed; then he realized that the man was dead.

"What's the matter?" Rowena asked, running over. He pointed into the house; she jumped and tensed her sword. Eruestan waved his hand and sent a ball of light flying to the ceiling. By now the rest of the group had gathered around the door; they all stared silently at the scene that waited for them.

A young man was sprawled on his back on a stone altar, his head staring back at the door. His neck and wrists bore deep cuts, all surrounded by dried blood.

Completely pale, Alistair walked forward and picked up a shield that was hanging on the back wall. "This is from Redcliffe," he said. "This was one of Arl Eamon's men."

"What are they doing here?" Wynne whispered in horror. "We need to find Genetivi as soon as possible."

"Wait a second," Leliana said sharply. "Do you hear that?"

They stood in silence for a moment. Slowly, they started to hear a soft chanting coming from the village chantry. "I think we found them," Eruestan said grimly.

They made their way to the chantry, the chanting growing louder and louder the closer they drew. Leliana drew them over to a window; they peered in and saw what seemed to be the entire village, all chanting together. "That's not from the Chant of Light," she said, frowning. "And is that…a Revered _Father_?"

Men were forbidden from joining the Chantry; the highest post they could attain was that of Brother of Andraste. Yet in front of them was an older man who was clearly leading the village in prayer. "Maker of the skies, earth, and mountains, lend thy ear to thy children!" he cried, raising his hands. "How we love thee, Great Father, how we pray that thou might bless us!"

"Bless us, Great Father, help us to grow," the village replied.

"The priest is staring often at the back corner," Sten remarked. "There's something back there."

As he said that, a door in the back corner opened and a young man walked out, carrying a large bowl. He bowed before the chantry's altar and set the bowl down in front of the priest. As he joined the rest of the village, a group of about ten men stood up in the back and walked forward.

"Maker," the priest called out, placing his hands in the bowl. Eruestan gasped as he drew them out; they were covered in blood. "As I place the blood of the Outsider on thy sons, grant them protection as they attempt once more thy bride to this world to bring." He smeared the blood over the face of the first man and continued moving down the line. The first man bowed, then pulled something out of his pocket and placed it in the wall. After a moment, a stone door slid open, revealing a black passage that he disappeared through. His fellows followed suit. After the last man passed through and the door resealed, the priest turned back to the village, raised his arms, and said "Go, brothers and sisters! Find the bodies of the Outsiders in our village, bring them back for the service of our Maker!"

The chantry cheered and rushed out the doors, men, women, and children all equally as excited. The group huddled against the wall, anxious not to be seen. "We don't have much time," Leliana whispered. "We should have hidden the bodies, it won't take them long to find them."

"Well, let us get started, then." Zevran snuck his dagger into the window and pried it open. They all jumped through and ran to the corner door. Eruestan tried the handle. "It's locked," he hissed. "Wynne, Morrigan, help me blast it down."

"No!" Leliana said, running forward. "They'll find us right away if the door's broken. I'll take care of this." She snatched one of Zevran's daggers and pulled out a thin strip of metal from her pocket. She bent down and began working on the lock. Within a minute, the door clicked and slid open.

"W-who's there?" someone inside groaned. "Not again…"

"Brother Genetivi!" Wynne cried, running forward. Eruestan peered in the darkness at a old man chained to the back wall. He bore a horrific cut on his side. "How long have you been here?"

"Enchanter Wynne?" the brother croaked, looking up at her. "Is that you?"

"Brother Genetivi, we don't have much time," Eruestan said; angry shouts were starting outside. "Do you know how to get out of here?"

He nodded weakly. "Father Erikur keeps a key to the temple in his desk – the only other man to have one is the leader of the Disciples of Andraste, Kolgrim. No one will be able to follow us if we go there."

"Disciples of Andraste?" Leliana asked, frowning.

"He can explain later," Eruestan said. The screams outside were getting louder. "Wynne, help me heal his wounds—someone see if you can find a way to break off these chains." The two mages began sealing the scholar's injury while Leliana and Zevran worked on unlocking his chains. Meanwhile, Rowena began rummaging through the desk in the room, opening every drawer.

"I can't find the key," she said, rifling through stacks of papers. "Are you sure it's in here?"

"It's not a normal key," he replied, rubbing his newly freed hands. "Look for a stone circle covered in carvings."

She lifted a scrap of parchment and picked up a stone circle covered in carvings. "Like this?"

"Great!" Eruestan said, finishing his healing spell; Wynne closed her eyes, muttered a final word, and watched in satisfaction as Genetivi's wound sealed. "I'm sorry I couldn't heal it completely," she said. "I can look at it again later."

"I'm just glad you can look at it now," the scholar replied.

"They may in the chantry be!" someone outside yelled. "Hurry!"

"Leliana, get those chains unlocked, now!" Eruestan said, standing up. "Sten, Alistair, get ready to help carry Genetivi to the door."

"Don't…rush…me," she said, focusing.

The shouts were picking up around the chantry. "Leliana!"

"Got it!" Sten crouched down and scooped up the old man, throwing him over his shoulder. Rowena and Cormac ran ahead to the back door in the main hall and placed the stone circle in an indent in the door.

"How does it work?" she said urgently, pressing it in harder. "Nothing's happening!"

"Turn it!" Genetivi said. "To the right!"

Rowena began to do so; however, at that moment the door to the chantry burst open, the priest at the head of a violent mob. "There they are!" he shouted, waving a glowing mage's staff. "Kill the Outsiders!"

That was all he was able to say before Leliana shot an arrow through his chest.

"Rowena, hurry!" she cried, notching back another arrow; the villagers were charging through, tripping over the bodies she was felling.

The door clicked and the stone slid open, the key falling into Rowena's hand. "Go, go!" she yelled, jumping aside. Before going inside, Eruestan, Morrigan, and Wynne each sent a wave of force flying into the villagers. Sten followed them, and then Zevran, Alistair, and Cormac. "Leliana, hurry!"

The bard shot one last arrow and went inside. The chantry was now half filled with crazed villagers, all screaming and howling for their blood. Baring her sword, Rowena stepped back into the passage and yanked a lever hanging out the side. There was a great rumbling—the villagers had reached the entrance, one was about to jump through—then the stone door slid shut, crushing his arm.

The hall went black. They were now in the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

* * *

_Thanks for all the support! Feel free to review!_


	26. Blood to Ashes

Eruestan snapped his fingers and summoned a ball of light in his hands. It illuminated a small tunnel that stretched into darkness, moss hanging from the walls. The stone door had cut off all contact with the chantry; they were bathed in total silence.

"All you all right, Rowena?" Wynne whispered from up front.

She nodded. "Better than I would have been, at least."

"We're safe now," Brother Genetivi said, sliding off Sten's back. His eyes were gleaming in the pale light. "Both keys are in the temple now, there's no way they can open the door."

"That being said, I say we get moving," Alistair said. "People that crazy have a tendency of breaking through a lot of things."

They began moving forward, Eruestan guiding the way with his ball of light. The tunnel was freezing; however, it was surprisingly well-paved. "I can't believe this," Genetivi murmured. "I've dreamt of finding the Temple of Sacred Ashes since I was a boy, and here I am now…"

"They never let you inside?" Leliana asked.

He shook his head. "They've held me here for weeks – I must have asked too many questions when I first got here, they assumed I knew more than they did about the temple. They thought my blood would be a better offering to the Maker as it carried more knowledge."

Despite the situation they were in, Eruestan couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement to finally speak to his favorite author. "Who are these people, Brother?" he asked. "How did you find them?"

"As I said, I've been interested in the Temple since I was a young boy," he replied. "All the legends claim that Andraste's ashes were brought to Ferelden centuries ago by her disciple Havard to hide them from Tevinter. After that, the records fall silent…except for a journal I found buried in the back of a bookseller in Denerim. Whoever wrote it claimed to have stumbled upon a beautiful temple buried in the Frostbacks; however, before she could explore, she was chased away by a group of angry villagers from a place called Haven, telling her to 'stay away from Andraste.' When I read that, I was convinced I'd found the right place. After that, all it took was a quick look at the ancient maps in the Chantry archives and I knew I'd found it."

"And that was when Arlessa Isolde contacted you?" Rowena asked.

He nodded. "The arl had fallen sick and she had gotten desperate. I'm more interested in the history, of course, but the Urn is known to have incredible healing powers. She offered to pay all my expenses to send me out here; there was no way I could turn it down."

"And so you came to an unknown area filled with violent cultists without telling anyone first," Sten said. "Astute."

"It's how I do things," Genetivi said, embarrassed. "I don't disclose my discoveries until the last moment, just in case I get something wrong. Besides, it allows me to keep a feeling of adventure about the whole thing."

"As well as get kidnapped and bled by a group of maniacs for a month," Zevran noted.

"I admit that my strategy has a few flaws," the old man said. "I wasn't quite anticipating the…_fervor_ of the Disciples."

"What does that mean?" Leliana said. "What kind of disciples of Andraste are they? They're certainly not like any Andrastians I've ever seen."

"I don't know much more than you," he replied. "They kept me locked up for so long, I never really got to understand how they worked. To my understanding, though, they consider themselves the descendants of Havard and therefore the purest worshippers of our Lady." He paused. "Their relationship with blood is…unique. They seem to think it will be able to protect them from harm…and that it will reunite them with Andraste."

"They think Andraste will return from the dead?" Wynne asked.

"Has returned," he corrected. "They think she has long since returned, and that at the moment she represents a terrible power of destruction."

The group fell silent, pondering this. The tunnel began to incline, growing colder and colder as they advanced. They stopped abruptly in front of a second stone door. "Use the key again," Genetivi whispered, his face pale. Rowena stepped forward, placed the stone in the indent, and turned it to the right.

The door opened into a massive darkness, barely penetrated by Eruestan's ball of light. As they stepped through the doors, torches lining the walls burst into flame without warning, illuminating the room they had just entered. Eruestan gasped; it was the largest room he had ever been in. It looked more like a massive cave; the ceiling was so high it disappeared into darkness. Towering pillars divided the room into three rows, bathing half the room in black. Giant, exquisite murals depicting the life of Andraste lined the walls, the torches casting flickering shadows that almost made the images dance.

Tears were streaming down Genetivi's face. "It's more than I could ever imagine," he said, his voice echoing off the walls. "These carvings alone…they tell us more about the life of our Lady Savoir than the entire Chant of Light itself…"

"It's very impressive," Eruestan admitted. At the same time, he didn't think it necessarily meant the Urn was held there; that he didn't say aloud.

"It looks like the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux," Leliana whispered. "I've never seen a more beautiful place…"

"Stay on your guard," Rowena said, peering into the dark. "All we need is for one of those assholes to spring out of the shadows swinging an axe around."

"Judging from their fellows, I doubt our adversaries are the type to wait in ambush," Zevran said. "Though generally it is better to be prepared for axe swings, that is true."

The group began to advance slowly into the darkness; Brother Genetivi, however, continued staring at the first panel of murals. "Brother Genetivi?" Rowena asked. "We're moving forward now."

"Not yet," he said, distracted. "These markings…I've never seen anything like them. I need to stay here and examine them."

The group exchanged glances. "I don't know if you should stay here alone, Genetivi," Wynne said gently. "Those men are still somewhere in this temple."

He shrugged, still staring at the murals. "I won't be any help to you fighting; I've just as much chances of dying with you as I do by myself."

"Quite confident for a man who just spent the past month chained to a wall," Morrigan muttered.

"I accept whatever happens to me here," Genetivi said. "The pursuit of knowledge is far nobler than my poor life."

"At least he's honest," Sten said.

"Well, be careful," Rowena said, frowning. "And take Cormac as protection." The hound whined, but walked over to the brother's side. "Hopefully we'll confront the Disciples before they can get to you."

"I'd appreciate that," Genetivi said. He scratched the dog's head, then turned back to the carvings. "Fascinating…she's usually portrayed with much smaller breasts."

"I want to stay with this brother!" Zevran said, face lighting up. Eruestan sighed and grabbed his arm. "Hey! Why not? I am finally expressing an interest in religion!"

Leliana snorted. "If you're religious, then I'm the Divine. But keep quiet – or do the Crows normally talk through their missions?"

"Well, we certainly aren't called the Antivan Mutes." They started walking deeper into the giant temple. "Though I have to say, was that a barb from a representative of the Orlesian bards?"

"I'm not a bard any more, Zevran," Leliana said, eyeing the shadows. "Although I will say that there are some Orlesians who feel that the Crows lack a certain…finesse…"

"And are you among those Orlesians?" Zevran asked, winking.

She smirked. "You're an assassin. I'm a spy. Apples to oranges."

"Both poisoned, I'm afraid."

"If you both insist on being clever, we should make tea," Morrigan said. "Otherwise, I suggest you remain silent."

"Jealousy doesn't become you, my beautiful witch friend."

"Jealous of a fanatic and a flounce? You flatter yourself."

"Flounce?" Zevran said. "Why, Morrigan, I had no idea you fancied me!"

They were reaching the back of the room. "Has anyone noticed that this temple is remarkably empty?" Rowena asked. "Where are they?"

Eruestan started to say something, then stopped and frowned. "Do you all hear something?"

A low whistling was coming from a hallway that led out of the left wall. The group moved forward warily, weapons tense. The air grew colder as they came closer; they soon realized that they were standing in front of a giant hole carved in the temple wall, leading out onto the mountaintop. "Look," Zevran said, pointing out into the night. There were a small group of lights shining in the distance.

They started walking towards the lights. As they drew nearer, they realized that the lights were torches that had been implanted in the ground around an ancient archway. "These have to be their lights," Leliana said. "But where are they?"

"Greetings, Outsiders," someone said behind them; they spun around to see the Disciples walking up towards them, faces covered in blood. "I see that you the haven of Haven have found."

Rowena brandished her sword. "Stay back!"

"Calm thy blade, maiden," the leader said. "I am Kolgrim, and we Disciples mean you no harm."

"Don't try to fool us," Eruestan snapped; he flexed his hand and summoned a ball of lightning. "We've seen what you've been doing in Haven."

"And you have also Haven survived," Kolgrim said. "And you know then that we are devoted to our lady Andraste, and that if we did not think you us could help, we would not hold back from attacking."

"What do you mean, help you?" Alistair said. "Why would we help you?"

Kolgrim blinked. "Why, for the noblest of causes! You would help our Lady back to this earth!"

The group exchanged a look. "You're insane," Rowena said. "Andraste is dead."

"Andraste was dead," the Disciple corrected. "Now, however, she is very much alive. I have her seen, and she is beautiful." He paused. "And yet she is deadly as well. Her return is not yet complete."

"You're nuts!" Alistair said. "Absolutely nuts!"

"Alistair," Eruestan said sharply. The Disciples were large and heavily armed; if there was a way to avoid fighting them, he'd consider taking it. "What do you need us to do?"

Kolgrim looked past him at the archway. "Through that passage lieth the resting place of the former remains of Our Lady. This is what prevents her from fully reentering the world. There is a way to break the power these ashes hold, though." He pulled a small vial from his cloak. "This is blood, magicked to defile the Urn. Once poured inside, Our Lady's seal will broken be and her glory restored will be."

"But you haven't yet," Eruestan said. "Why?"

"The Urn is protected," Kolgrim said. "The Guardian blocks the door and knows what we intend to do; we cannot get past him. You, however, are new. You can past him get, and you can the ashes defile."

"_What_?" Leliana hissed. "Absolutely not."

"Be quiet, Leliana," Eruestan said. She narrowed her eyes at him. "What do we get out of this?"

"Our friendship," Kolgrim said calmly. Eruestan raised an eyebrow. "Not satisfactory? Very well. Do this for us, and we shall thy friends teach how to unlock the strength hidden in their blood."

"You mean blood magic?" Alistair growled.  
"There is no magic involved," Kolgrim said. "We are not priests. Still, we men of Haven are warriors of no small caliber, a gift we can from the power of blood draw. Poison the ashes, and this gift is yours."

"Done," Eruestan said.

"Eruestan!" Leliana, Alistair, Rowena, and Wynne stared at him in horror.

"I don't want a fight," he said, crossing his arms. "And last time I checked, I was the one who made the decisions."

Rowena snorted, and then saw the look in his eye. She stared at him for a moment, then slowly nodded. "Fine," she said, turning back to Kolgrim. "We agree."

"No, we don't! I can't belie—"

"_Aies confiance en nous, Léliana_," Rowena said, still staring at the Disciples. The bard stopped mid-sentence and bit her lip.

"What hast thou said?" Kolgrim said sharply. "This tongue I know not."

"She's convincing her in Orlesian," Eruestan said. "The language of the Lowland Chantry."

Kolgrim did not seem impressed. "Tell her to stop. This Lowlander tongue is displeasing to us."

"You won't hear it anymore," Eruestan said. "We've agreed to your terms, what happens now is on you."

"Very well." Kolgrim handed the vial to him; the blood churned in his hand. "Make haste, Wardens. We have for this many years waited."

"We shall." The Disciples bowed, blood-smeared faces still turned up towards them, then disappeared once more into the night.

"What are you planning?" Leliana whispered, turning back to the arch. "You aren't seriously considering defiling the Sacred Ashes, are you?"

"Of course not," Eruestan said. "The Ashes probably aren't even here – these people are lunatics, I bet they saw a large rock in there and assumed it was some sort of guardian."

"So what are we going to tell them afterwards?" Alistair asked.

"That we poured the blood in the Ashes," he said, pocketing the vial. "They'll start crying in joy, we'll see if there's anything to this 'gift', and then we'll get out of here in one piece."

"Oh. That's sneaky."

"Would you rather dump tainted blood on Andraste's remains?" Rowena asked.

"Well, no," he said. "It'd jus be nobler to fight, I guess."

"Nobility won't keep us alive," Eruestan said. Morrigan snorted. "What?"

"Nothing," she said. "I am surprised that I wholly agree with one of your decisions, that's all."

"First time for everything," Rowena said.

Eruestan rolled his eyes and walked through the arch. "Come on, let's just get this over with, I want to get…back…"

He stopped midsentence. They were not alone in the cave.

* * *

_Thanks for the wonderful support! Feel free to review!_


	27. The Pilgrim's Path

There was a man standing at the other end of the cave, blocking an ancient stone archway. He was rather young, wearing a finely-crafted suit of armor and carrying a gleaming broadsword. His eyes were closed, as if in deep prayer. At first Eruestan was sure he was a Disciple; however, his face was not covered in blood.

Rowena took a step forward, her sword pointed at him. "Who are you?" she yelled. "What are you doing here?"

The man's eyes flew open; a chill went down Eruestan's spine. They were glowing white, so bright that even at the other end of the cave Eruestan felt he needed to look away. "I am the Guardian of the Sacred Ashes," he said, his voice echoing off the cave's walls. "I have protected the remains of Our Lady Savior for one thousand years, and I shall keep guarding them for one thousand more."

Rowena's sword faltered. "Oh! Well, uh, great!"

The hairs on Eruestan's neck had started to stand up. Did the Urn actually lie within the cave? "What do you mean, a thousand years? That's impossible."

"Anything is possible through Our Lady Andraste," the Guardian said.

Leliana quickly drew the Circle of Holy Flame on her forehead, eyes wide. Behind her, Morrigan and Sten exchanged glances and sighed.

"Approach, pilgrims," the Guardian said. "Tell me, do you come to pay homage to Andraste?"

Eruestan was about to lie; however, the Guardian's eyes grew brigher the closer he came to him, and he suddenly had a feeling that the man would see through any attempts at duplicity. "Yes and no," he said, heart pounding. "We've also come to heal a very sick man – we thought the Ashes might help him."

"Honesty was a favored trait of Andraste," the Guardian said, bowing his head. "She told me so herself days before she was betrayed and sent to Minrathous."

Leliana drew in her breath sharply. "You knew Andraste?"

"I did," the Guardian said. "She was our friend, mother, leader, and savior; she saw our pain and led us to—"

"What color was her hair?" Leliana interrupted, eyes gleaming.

The Guardian stared at her. "I'm sorry?"

"Everyone always portrays her as blonde; was she?"

He scratched his chin. "Well, I'd say it was more red, actually…"

"I knew it," Leliana whispered.

"Ok, we're getting off track here," Rowena said, frowning. "Will we be able to take the Ashes with us?"

"You may," the Guardian said, "though you will only need a handful to heal the man who needs them. Andraste's life was dedicated to the service of others, it would give her great pleasure to know that she could help the world even after her death. First, however, you must release the terrible burdens that you carry with you."

Eruestan was glad he hadn't tried lying to the Guardian. "You're right," he said. "The Disciples gave us this vial of blood to taint the Ashes; I think you'll know what to do with it better than we would."

The Guardian blinked and took the vial. "Right…well, again, I thank you for your honesty…though to be frank I was actually speaking of more…personal burdens."

"Oh!" Eruestan frowned. "Like what?"

The Guardian stepped aside, unblocking the archway. "A series of obstacles waits for you beyond this portal. They will test your character – all your characters, to see if you are worthy to approach the final resting place of Lady Andraste."

"We might want to sit this one out," Zevran muttered to Morrigan.

"That is not an option, I'm afraid," the Guardian said. "Your path was decided from the moment you entered this cavern. You must continue, or be killed."

"My friend, you should really put that on a sign out front."

"That's fine," Rowena said, jabbing Zevran in the side. "We'll do it."

"Very well," the Guardian said; a keening sound echoed through the caves, as though something had been ripped apart. "You may enter now – but be warned, pilgrims. Weapons and spells may prove useless within."

"We'll see about that," Rowena muttered. The group walked through the arch into a poorly lit corridor. Three balls of light were floating in the air about halfway down; as they drew closer, they began to spark and grow, forming the silhouettes of humans.

"Careful!" Eruestan said, stepping forward. "We don't know what these will…_Jowan_?"

The central sphere had morphed into his friend, as lifelike as if the mage himself was standing in front of him. "Hello, Eruestan," he said, half-smiling. "We keep meeting in the strangest places."

He shook his head. "You're not Jowan; this won't work again!"

"This isn't the Fade, Eruestan," Jowan said. "There are no demons here to confuse you. I just want to ask you a question."

"What would that be?"

"Do you regret helping me?"

He froze. "What?"

"You were my best friend – my only friend – and yet I betrayed you," Jowan said, lowering his gaze. "I was a maleficar, and I tricked you into releasing me onto the world; yet at the same time, if you hadn't helped me, I would have suffered a terrible fate. Do you regret helping me?"

"Of course I do!" Eruestan spluttered, pulse rising. "You're a blood mage, you caused all that suffering in Redcliffe, I…"

He stopped midsentence. The other spheres of light had morphed as well. They were both Jowan as well – one was Jowan the Maleficar. Blood was smeared across his face and his clothes, a cold, cruel look in his eyes. The other Jowan, however, was far more terrible. His face was blank, his eyes dull, and a bright sunburst had been branded on his forehead…

"I don't know," he said, half in shock. "You may have been a blood mage, but if I had let you become a Tranquil…I don't know, Jowan. Either way would have been horrible."

"Thank you, Eruestan," Jowan said. "Be at peace, then."

Jowan began to change; Eruestan felt terribly conflicted. Any concerns for himself, however, ended when he saw who Jowan had become.

"Pup," Bryce Cousland said, reaching out to his daughter. "I am so sorry."

"You've been so strong, dearest," Teyrna Eleanor said, a restraining hand on his shoulder. "We miss you so much."

"A Grey Warden now, huh?" Fergus said. "Always have to one-up me, don't you?"

Rowena's face had gone pale. "This isn't fair," she murmured. "What do you want from me?"

"You hold great pain in your heart, Pup," Bryce said. "You must let it go."

"Do not let our deaths ruin your life," Eleanor said. "You have a horrible task before you, let this venom go…"

"I should have done more," she whispered, staring down at the floor. "I should have fought harder at the castle, I should have fought harder to find Fergus…"

"There was nothing you could do, Wena," Fergus said. "Howe's forces overwhelmed you, and I was lost in the Wilds."

"Let your hate go, Pup," Bryce pleaded. "It can only lead to more pain and suffering."

She was silent for a long moment; Eruestan realized that he had been holding his breath. "No," she said finally. "I can't. Howe will pay for his crimes, no matter what I have to do to ensure it."

The Couslands looked at each other sadly. "Don't let this consume you, dearest," Eleanor said, closing her eyes. "Live, and forget…"

"Mother, I—" Rowena stopped; her family had disappeared.

Eruestan reached out a hand to her. "Rowena, I'm so…"

She shook her head and quickly wiped her eyes. "I'm fine," she said roughly. "Don't bring it up."

The spheres were already transforming. Suddenly Duncan, Arl Eamon, and a tall blond man were standing in front of them. "Alistair," they all said together.

"Oh no," the knight whispered.

"You feel as though you've let us down," Duncan said. "That is not the case."

"I…it is, though," Alistair said. He had gone completely pale. "Duncan, I let you die on the battlefield. If you had lived…"

"He did not," Arl Eamon said. "Duncan was aware of the risks that being a Warden brought. What is important is that you survived to carry on his fight."

"But I let you down, too," Alistair replied. "You showed me nothing but kindness, and I spat on it. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," the blond man said. "You were a lost child due to the mistakes of your parents. It is because of me that you were ever put in that situation."

Eruestan realized with a start that the blond man was King Maric. Alistair remained silent.

"You were not a failure, Alistair," the king said softly. "You were hidden away, true, but it was not your fault."

"None of this was," Duncan said. "Forget your guilt, look towards the future."

"I…I will," he said, bowing his head. "Thank you."

The three bowed as well; then, they morphed back into one single sphere that shrunk and began to take the form of an old woman. "Morrigan…" Flemeth began to croak.

"Leave me be, spirits," Morrigan said sharply, crossing her arms. "I won't take part in any of your games."

For a second Eruestan was afraid of what it would say in response. The sphere, however, merely split in thirds and took the form of three priestesses. "Sister Leliana, what are you doing here?" the Revered Mother from Lothering said. "Why have you left the embrace of the Chantry?"

Leliana cleared her throat. "I came to serve the Maker…"

"By his own calling?" a second priestess said. "Are you really so arrogant as to believe that the Maker speaks to you directly?"

"It's not arrogance!" she gasped, standing up straighter. "The Maker approached me in a dream, he told me to fight against the darkness – he hasn't abandoned us!"

"Do you really believe that?" the third priestess asked. "Or are you desperately trying to find sense in a world without logic? Have you given yourself meaning and purpose when the rest of the world wouldn't?"

"How dare you!" she snapped, eyes flashing. "I'm doing good in this world, you have no right to—"

"The last person to speak to the Maker was Andraste herself," Mother Hannah said. "Do you really put yourself on her level?"

Eruestan could see the fire leaving Leliana's eyes. "I…I know what I believe," she said quietly; her hands had started shaking. "That's all I can say."

The priestesses bowed and turned into Qunari. "Sten," they said. "You carry a terrible guilt and shame in your heart."

"I do," Sten said, unmoved. "I have lost my sword, my command, and my honor. How could I feel otherwise? But don't waste your time with me. The Qun guides me, not your Andraste."

The Qunari bowed and turned into three old enchanters Eruestan didn't recognize. "Wynne," the first croaked. "Though you now live, your life relies on the very thing we have taught you to hate. How can you justify your survival, when it makes you a monster among men?"

The group exchanged alarmed looks; Eruestan stared sharply at Wynne. She sighed, but shook her head. "I am not comfortable with this situation," she said. "But I trust the spirit giving me life."

"How can you?" a second enchanter asked. "How can you let yourself be an Abomination?"

She smirked. "What's my alternative? If I die, I am useless to the world. This spirit has never wished me ill; I will use it to help as many as I can before it, too, becomes drained."

"And if it consumes you first?" the third mage said.

"Then I will be put down." Her voice was harder now. "I know these risks, spirits; but I know my own strength, too."

Eruestan felt a pang of guilt as the spheres regrouped; perhaps he had judged her too harshly. Before he could reflect on it, the sphere took the form of a beautiful young elven woman. "Zevran," she began.

"How do you know about her?" he said; his words were sharp and harsh, more serious than Eruestan had ever heard him before. "She's off limits."

"Zevran, _mio tresoro_…"

"The answer is yes," he said, screwing his eyes shut and looking away. "Yes, I regret her death, yes, I regret what I did, now can we please move on?"

There was another keening sound as the spheres disappeared; a door at the other end of the hallway opened by itself. Eruestan looked back at Zevran, who looked like someone had punched him. "Are you all right?"

"The Guardian was right about these obstacles," he replied, color returning to his face. "Let us hope this Urn lies in the room beyond."

"I do have a quick question," Alistair said. "Wynne, what were those mages talking about?"

She smiled painfully; Eruestan looked down. "I'll explain later, Alistair; don't worry, we aren't in any danger."

"Well, I for one think that was totally uncalled for," Leliana snapped, walking forward. "How dare they suggest those things about us, it's absolutely insulting."

"Someone's a bit touchy," Alistair said, grinning. Leliana sent him a death glare and stormed forward.

They walked into a large room lined with mirrors. "What do you think this obstacle is, makeovers?" Alistair asked.

"Oh, I hope so!" Leliana gasped, her mood brightening. "I'd excel at that!"

Eruestan smiled and looked into the mirrors; to his shock, something in the background was moving. "Everyone, something's going on with the mirrors!"

"Of course it is," Rowena sighed, looking over. She paused and frowned. "Wait, is that…us?"

She was right. Walking towards them in the mirrors were their own relfections. "Hm. I need a haircut," Zevran said.

"I can help with that later," Leliana said, scanning the mirrors. "I wonder if this is supposed to be a metaphor? Do you think we're going to ask ourselves more questions?"

"That's a bit too deep for me," Eruestan said, examining his reflection. He was surprised at how feeble he looked compared to the others. "Do I really look that weak to you?"

"Yes," Sten said, drawing his sword. "But I don't think these reflections have come to chat with us."

To his horror, Eruestan realized that the Qunari was right. As the reflections drew nearer the mirror's edge, the glass began to distort and warp; suddenly, their counterparts had fallen out of the mirrors, fully formed and dressed for battle. For a moment, the two groups stood still, eyeing each other suspiciously. Then, the other Rowena gave a great battle cry and charged forward, sword drawn.

Eruestan waved his hands, ready to throw up a barrier between the groups of fighters. Before he could cast his spell, however, an ice spike grazed his cheek, shattering on the wall behind him. Shocked, he looked to see Mirror Eruestan draw his hand back, ready to strike again. He quickly summoned a small magical shield; a series of ice spikes smashed to pieces against it. Snarling, he sent his barrier slamming forward, hoping to crush his reflection; the other Eruestan merely dodged it and fell to the back of the room, waiting his next move.

Beside him, the others were struggling just as violently with their reflections; he suddenly realized that if someone didn't lower their odds, the reflections had a good shot at winning. Staring down the other Eruestan, he created a bolt of lighting, threatening to strike his counterpart. However, at the last moment, he whipped his head around and sent it crashing into Alistair's reflection. It flew into the air from the spell's force; to Eruestan's surprise, it then shattered into pieces.

"Thanks," Alistair said, panting. "I'm a much better fighter than I thought I was."

"Anytime," Eruestan said. "Now help me kill myself!"

He nodded and looked back at his own reflection, who hadn't realized how the tables were turning. Eruestan barely had time to throw up a barrier around the two of them before it sent a wave of cold air flying at them; a block of frost formed on the magical shield. Muttering a mantra under his breath, Alistair stepped out from behind the glowing blue wall and charged at the other Eruestan. The reflection didn't seem to notice; it continued throwing spells at Eruestan, whose shield held firm. Alistair's sword flew through the air; Eruestan watched with a strange sense of detachment as his decapitated head flew through the air and shattered into thousands of pieces.

"I'm going after the other mages!" Alistair yelled, brandishing his sword. "Help the others!" Eruestan nodded and looked at the rest of the room. Though the fighting was fierce, he realized that the reflections had all the skills of his companions with none of their sense of strategy. They only seemed intent on attacking their real-life counterparts; to be fair, though, this strategy seemed to be working. Wynne and Morrigan had been backed into a corner by their reflections, who were pummeling their defenses with balls of fire and stone. In other parts of the room, fierce hand-to-hand duels were raging with no clear idea of who held the upper hand. He moved to help Rowena, then instantly thought better of it. The two Rowenas were moving so quickly that he couldn't be sure that he wouldn't accidently hit his friend. Watching them fight was mesmerizing; he had never viewed swordplay as an art before, yet what was playing out in front of him could only be described as a dance.

Something flew past his face, breaking him out of his trance; a throwing knife crashed into the stone behind him. "_Bastardo_!" Zevran grunted, struggling a few feet away. "You are making me look bad! I have much better aim than that!"

Leliana snorted, eyes locked on her counterpart. "Why do I doubt that, Zevran?" Without warning, she flipped over her double and tried to swipe at her side; the reflection turned to parry her blow – however it left its other flank open, which gave Zevran the chance to lunge forward and stab the reflection in the side, making it shatter into pieces.

"What were you saying, my Orlesian beauty?" he asked smugly. His own double drew back to strike with his blade; Leliana rolled her eyes and flicked a small knife through its head. "_Brosca!_" The assassin took a step back as the reflection crashed to pieces. "My friend, you sent that as if you truly meant it."

"Just don't test your luck in the future!" She left to help Rowena; on the other side of the room, Alistair had managed to help turn the tables for Wynne and Morrigan. Sten had locked swords with his reflection, both trying to force the other to his knees. Thinking quickly, Eruestan froze the reflection in ice; the Qunari sliced it in half. With Leliana's help, Rowena cut her double's leg; the double staggered, giving her all the time she needed to stab her through the stomach.

As her reflection shattered to pieces, a gust of wind picked up in the room. Suddenly, all the mirrors at the room's end crashed to pieces, revealing a cavern lying beyond.

"Maker's _breath_!" Alistair said. "No wonder no one's seen the Urn in a thousand years!"

"That was incredible!" Rowena said, eyes shining. "Do you know how long I've been waiting to fight myself?"

"You terrify me," Eruestan said, walking through the shattered mirrors. "Now let's see what waiting for us here."

"Hopefully nothing too bad!" Alistair said, following him.

The instant they walked into the room, a wall of flame sprung up from the center, its light reflecting off the cavern walls. Even from the back, they could still feel the heat against their faces.

"Andraste's ass!" Alistair said. "I _need_ to stop saying things like that!"

"I'll handle this," Eruestan said. There was a small altar in the middle of the room; he stepped around it to face the flames. Closing his eyes, he concentrated his power, feeling a chill build in his stomach. His breath starting to fog, he thrust out his hands and released the spell. Nothing happened.

"Impressive," Sten shouted; the flames had begun to roar, only having grown taller from Eruestan's efforts.

"Er…give me a minute." He furrowed his eyebrows and tried again, although his energy was already greatly drained. His next spell was weaker, and also had no effect. "I…I don't think my magic's working here," he said, trying to ignore the shaking in his knees.

"Well, what are we supposed to do, then?" Rowena asked, wiping sweat from her forehead.

"Sten could try to toss us over?" Alistair offered. The Qunari glared at him. "That was a joke, Sten."

"There has to be _some_ sort of hint," Leliana said, leaning back on the altar. "Wait, why is this here…there's Tevinter writing on this!"

Alistair leaned in closer and squinted. "Hm…so, like, this first part is talking about throwing stuff away…something about bathing in animals? Something something slaves…and then eating the stomach of the Maker?"

"Oh, there's a translation in Fereldan over here," Rowena said, looking at the foot of the pedestal. "'Cast away your worldly trappings and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar, be born anew in the Maker's sight.'"

"Oh." Alistair looked embarrassed. "Tevinter was never my strong point."

"What does that mean, though?" Wynne asked, frowning. "What worldly trappings do we need to cast away?"

The group reflected for a moment; then, Morrigan started to undo the lacing on her shirt.

"Morrigan, my beauty, you are brilliant," Zevran said, instantly working on his armor straps as well. "As we say in Antiva, 'when in doubt, have an orgy.'"

"So much as look at me, Zevran, and I shall set you on fire myself," Morrigan said. "However, 'tis obvious what this challenge requires of us. We are to put our faith in your Maker, shed our clothes, and plunge ourselves into the flames."

"That sounds like a lot of really confusing nightmares I've had," Alistair muttered.

Eruestan's pulse had picked up. "I don't know, Morrigan," he said, eyeing the flames. "If you're wrong…"

She tsked impatiently. "Leliana, you are religious, are you not?" The bard nodded. "Tell me, then, how was your Andraste 'born anew in the Maker's sight'?"

"Through the flames at Minrathous…" Leliana said slowly. "No, you must be right, Morrigan. How on earth did you know that, though?"

"I went to a chanting in Lothering once," she replied. "That was the topic at hand. All drivel, of course, but I believe it will help us here."

Leliana sighed and began to unbuckle her armor as well. "Clothes off, everyone."

Zevran was naked within five seconds. "I have been waiting for days for someone to say that."

Eruestan tried not to peek at the assassin's body—from a glimpse, though, he saw toned muscles highlighted by intricate tattoos running the length of his torso. Secretly pleased, he quickly busied himself with his tunic. His own body was nothing to be ashamed of – or so he thought. After seeing Sten's muscles, however, he suddenly felt very feeble by comparison.

"Why, we are all masterpieces!" Zevran cried. "Barring Morrigan, of course, who has forbade me look at her, but I can imagine that she too is as well-built as the rest of you!"

"Hey, Zevran?" Alistair said, shielding his more sensitive areas from view. "Let's maybe apply the 'no-looking' rule to everyone, ok?"

"Fair enough – though it is a shame to not stare at a work of art, is it not?"

"But what about our weapons?" Rowena said suddenly, staring at the Cousland sword and shield lying at her feet. "We'll be able to get them back, right?"

"I wouldn't count on it," Leliana said. "We'll just have to put our trust in the Maker."

"Trust in the Maker my ass!" Rowena snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "My family has owned these standards for ages, I'm not going to abandon them in the middle of some cave in the Frostbacks!"

"Yeah, good point!" Alistair said. "We're on top of a mountain, how are we getting out of here with no clothes on?"

"Everyone, stop worrying!" Leliana said. "This is a test of faith in the Maker!"

"And we're doing it with a Qunari, a witch, and Zevran," Alistair said. "We're about to burn to death, aren't we?"

"'Twould put an end to all this nonsense, at least," Morrigan muttered.

"Leliana's right, everyone," Wynne said; she looked just as confident nude as she did fully clothed. "There's nowhere to go except forward, all we can do now is hope that it will work out for the best."

Rowena did not look pleased; still, she stepped over her sword and shield and approached the flames. The group stared at the wall of fire, bodies flushed with heat. "Do you think this will hurt?" Alistair asked, face pale.

Eruestan would have been very surprised if that weren't the case. "The best thing to do is to charge forward," he said, ignoring the sweat pouring down his face. "Link arms, everyone, and no matter what happens, just keep walking." They did so; he found himself between Rowena and Zevran. The assassin winked at him; quickly looking ahead, he took a deep breath and began to walk forward.

From the first step, the heat became oppressive; he had to shy his face away from the flames. All of sudden the idea seemed extremely stupid – throw themselves into the fire? They would burn, becoming nothing more than charred flesh on a cave floor. Somehow, they were still moving forward; he wanted to draw back, but Rowena's arm gripped his tighter, encouraging him to continue. They had to be close to the flames now – the heat was unbearable, hot wax poured on his body, he tried to jerk away…

He was on fire and he had to scream. His mind was only pain, pure, horrible pain, pain he had never before felt and that he would never again feel. At his side, Rowena and Zevran broke apart, writhing horribly in the flames. He was dead, he was going insane…

And suddenly, it had stopped. He was standing in an entirely different chamber, once more fully clothed. Already the flames felt like a distant memory, as if they'd happened years ago. The Guardian was standing before them, eyes glowing.

"Welcome, pilgrims," he said, bowing his head before them. "You have succeeded where so many before you have failed. You have survived the Gauntlet, and you have gained access to the Urn of Sacred Ash."

He stepped aside; behind him stood a remarkably lifelike statue of Andraste, making Eruestan think fleetingly of the strange stone woman in the basement of the Circle Tower. In Andraste's hands was a small white urn.

Leliana and Alistair fell to their knees; as for Eruestan, he could hardly believe what he was seeing. Even after all the bizarre things they had endured in the caverns, he had not expected to actually find the Urn. It was all too surreal, as if he had stepped into the Black City.

Sten was not as impressed. "Very well, we have found our rubbish bin, let us not waste any more time."

The Guardian raised an eyebrow; all the same, he pulled a small pouch out from his armor. "This is all you are allowed to take from the Urn," he said. "This amount would be enough to heal any ailment."

Eruestan took the pouch gingerly and turned to Alistair and Leliana, who were both busy praying. "Er…I feel like one of you two should do the honors."

Leliana shook her head, eyes closed. "I am not worthy to touch the ashes of Andraste. I'm fine right here, thank you."

"Me, too," Alistair said, wide-eyed. "With my luck I'd probably knock it over."

"Er, yes, I would suggest refraining from spilling Our Lady's remains all over the floor," the Guardian said.

Eruestan approached the Urn and placed his hand inside, surprised to feel how fine the ashes were. He could feel his energy return to him as he touched them, fully renewed by the time he had filled the pouch. At that moment he knew he was touching the remains of Andraste, and his knees went weak. Somehow, the room was glowing white.

"Go in the Maker's peace, pilgrims," the Guardian's voice echoed off the walls as Eruestan closed his eyes from the blinding light. "Carry the fire of Andraste in your hearts."

They were standing back in the first cavern. The Guardian and the archway leading to the Urn were nowhere to be seen.

"Did that just happen?" Rowena whispered, face white.

Eruestan grasped the leather pouch tightly in his hand. "That was unbelievable," he breathed. "We actually found the Urn of Sacred Ashes."

"That, or a place of extremely high magical activity," Wynne said. "Still very impressive, though."

"I shall remember this day for the rest of my life," Leliana murmured fervently, making the Circle of Holy Flame on her forehead. "But let's hurry back to Redcliffe, Andraste wouldn't want us to waste time now that we've got what we need."

"Andraste was not a patient woman, then?" Morrigan asked, looking bored.

"Of course she was," Leliana said, frowning; they began to make their way to the exit. "She was everything virtuous and holy."

"And yet she was the leader of a vicious barbarian army that lay Tevinter to ruin. A strange woman at least."

"She was guided by the Maker!"

"A killer led by religion is a killer nonetheless. Your Savior was a heartless warlord with a fancy patron."

"Ladies, please," Zevran said, cutting off Leliana's outraged response. "You are forgetting the key component of any discussion of the merits of Our Lady – her figure."

"Zevran," Leliana hissed through clenched teeth, "I swear by the Maker that if you so much as _think_ about bringing up Andraste's bosom I will personally—"

"Um, everyone?" Rowena said suddenly, voice oddly strained. "You might want to focus your attention up front for a moment."

Eruestan looked forward and felt his heart drop. The Disciples of Andraste were standing in front of the cave entrance, waiting in the early morning light.

"Oh," Alistair said. "I forgot about these guys."

"Outsiders," Kolgrim called from the front, "is your task complete?"

Eruestan and Rowena glanced at each other. "It is," she called back. "The Urn is defiled!"

Murmurs of excitement rippled through the Disciples. "My brethren!" Kolgrim gasped, bloodied face lit up with joy. "At long last our glorious mission is completed! At long last we might the beauty of Our Lady's face see! At long last, the Maker hath his Bride to us returned!"

The other Disciples fell to their knees in prayer; Eruestan coughed awkwardly. "Not to hurry things along, but if we could learn that talent you were talking about, we could get out of here and leave you to your—"

"Join us, Outsiders!" Kolgrim shouted, a wide smile on his face. "Help us greet Our Lady to her new home! Brother Eskild, sound the horn!"

"The horn?" Rowena whispered; Eruestan felt a thrill of dread fall down his spine. Before he could say anything, the Disciples rose back to their feet and turned around to face the mountaintop far in the distance. A blond one near the back reached into his cloak and pulled out an intricately carved horn. Taking a deep breath, he blew loudly, its sound echoing throughout the mountains.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, there was a great roar in the distance, the sound of a monster being woken. "She approaches!" Kolgrim cried.

A black mass had left the mountaintop—Eruestan's heart rate began to pick up. It circled around the peak and then began making its way towards them. It was hard to make out what it was, exactly—it had large, flapping wings and appeared to be massive even from a distance. It couldn't be anything good—and then he realized what exactly it was.

"_Everyone, take cover!_" he cried, diving behind a boulder. The rest of the party, realizing at the same time what was approaching them, joined him and cowered down. This was not done a moment too soon—the instant Sten's head ducked beneath the rock, a giant dragon landed with a crash into the clearing in front of the cavern.

For a moment there was silence in the clearing, broken only by the dragon's heavy panting. Eruestan peered out from behind the rock, trying to figure out what was happening. The dragon had dark brown scales and was simply massive, easily the size of the Redcliffe chantry. Its beady yellow eyes glared down at the Disciples, slightly opening its jaws and revealing a set of impossibly sharp teeth. The Disciples seemed shocked; fortunately the dragon seemed to be as well. _Don't say anything_, Eruestan thought desperately. _Get out of here and run!_

At that point, Kolgrim had found his voice again. "Andraste!" he cried, approaching the dragon. "Embrace thy children! Thou hast to us returned!"

The dragon did nothing for a moment, just staring at him. "Maybe it really is tamed?" Leliana whispered, looking around the rock herself. For a second, Eruestan almost believed it. Then, the dragon opened its jaws wide and let loose a stream of white-hot flame, completely engulfing Kolgrim and the Disciples.

"_Shite_!" Eruestan threw himself behind the rock once more, shying away from the heat. The roar of flame, along with the Disciples screams, filled the clearing; the snow around them melted as well. As the fire died away, the dragon lifted its neck and roared loudly, sending vibrations rumbling through the air.

"How are we getting out of here?" Rowena yelled.

Eruestan ran his hands through his hair, thinking quickly. "Wynne, Morrigan, help me cast a distraction in the air!" he shouted. "Everyone else, try and run around it while we're casting, and stay away from its mouth!"

The three mages focused on the sky and pointed their hands upwards. Several orbs of blinding light began floating around the dragon's head; confused, it roared again and started snapping at them. The group quickly ran out from behind the rocks—the stench of burning flesh filled the air. The Disciples' bodies were charred husks on the ground, all contorted into terrible positions. Too energized to worry about them, Eruestan ran forward, trying to make his way around the beast. At that moment, the spell stopped; the dragon peered down at them and reared back, flapping its wings. The party was lifted off their feet by the wind and blasted back against the cliff walls. Pain stabbed up Eruestan's leg – he had broken his ankle.

The dragon had taken flight, circling in the air above them. "Shit shit shit shit shit!" he said, trying to struggle to his feet – he didn't want to waste his magic healing himself.

"Are you all right?" Rowena asked, grabbing his arm. "Maker, this is amazing – _it's coming back!_"

The dragon swooped low, jaws extended – acting on instinct, Eruestan threw up a magic shield, quickly supported by Wynne and Morrigan. The flames crashed beautifully against it, curling back in a multitude of colors and light that would have been lovely were it not meant to kill them. The heat splashed against the mountainside, causing warm water from the snow banks to pool at their feet. The dragon flew out of sight overhead. The party huddled in the cave entrance, all scanning the skies.

"How are we supposed to fight this?" Leliana cried, bow drawn. The dragon roared from somewhere above them, shaking the mountain.

Eruestan's mind was whirring. He suddenly hobbled forward and began searching the remains of the Disciples, fighting back an urge to retch. The dragon roared again, this time much closer. "Eruestan, get back here!" Rowena cried; he ignored her. He had found what he was looking for – the charred horn used to summon the beast in the first place. He grabbed it and dove back towards the cave just as the dragon swooped low again and set the clearing on fire. "Sten, Rowena, get behind those rocks," he gasped, pointing to a set of boulders on one side of the clearing. "Alistair, Zevran, you go to the other side. When the dragon lands, go for its legs, the wings are too high to reach."

"What do you mean, _when the dragon lands_?"

Eruestan ignored Alistair. "Leliana, try to climb on top of those rocks and see if you can't fire a few shots into its eyes. The three of us will try to keep its attention down."

"Volunteered as human bait?" Morrigan said. "Today is getting better and better."

Eruestan grimaced and placed the horn to his lips. Seeing that everyone was in position, he took a deep breath and blew hard. The sound nearly deafened him.

There was another roar and suddenly the dragon was descending again, body streamlined to crash in the clearing. It collided with the earth in a great tremor, sending rocks and dirt flying into the air. Once again, it paused, searching for whomever had blown the horn. Before it could react, two arrows suddenly punctured both of its eyes.

The shriek the beast emitted sent a wave of chills flowing down Eruestan's body. Spouting flame at random, its head was writhing through the clearing, sending several large boulders plummeting down towards the cavern entrance. Acting as a unit, the three mages suspended the rocks in midair and sent them flying at the dragon, knocking it back and temporarily stunning it. This was all the time Sten needed to plunge his blade firmly between the scales on the dragon's back leg, forcing out another horrific shriek. The dragon tried to rear again and nearly collapsed on its leg – flapping its wings frantically, it started to fly out of the clearing once more. To Eruestan's dismay, he saw a flash of red hair throw itself onto the dragon's body just before it flew into the air.

* * *

Rowena hadn't had much time to think when she first jumped on the dragon's back; now, clinging onto its back as it soared through the air, she had no time to think at all. The cold mountain air was freezing and relentless; her hands were already numb, and tears were streaming down her eyes. Breathing was hard, too, the wind rushing past so fast it left her gasping. She had never been more excited in her life.

The dragon didn't seem to know that she was on its back; clutching her sword, she began to crawl her way up, using the spikes on its back to pull herself along. Her heart racing, she made it to the beast's neck and hugged it tightly, trying to figure out how to proceed. It was aware of her now; it began bucking and rocking, trying to shake her. Eyes narrowed, she gripped its back even tighter and made her way to the back of its skull. The dragon was spouting flame at random; it threw its head back, blasting her off. For a moment she was suspended in the air; however, the dragon contorted again and she was able to grab onto a spike on its neck. With a scream, she reached back and plunged her sword into the dragon's skull.

The Cousland blade sank through the bone; the beast howled and suddenly went limp, its body shivering. It began plummeting to the earth; Rowena pressed herself against its neck, heart racing. The dragon was spiraling; the ground was getting closer; she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and leapt off, seconds before the dragon crashed into the earth.

She had landed on her wrist; the cold snow distracted her from the pain. She looked over to her side; the dragon had slid off the mountain, leaving giant tracks in its wake. For a moment she just stared at the empty space; then, she burst into laughter.

"_Rowena_!" Eruestan and the others dashed over to her; Alistair, however, got there first. "Are you all right?" he asked urgently, kneeling down beside her.

"Maker, that was _incredible_!" she said, grinning broadly. "Seriously, though, what a complete _arse_, summoning a bloody dragon…" Her arm throbbed in pain again. "Oh, damn, I think I sprained my wrist!"

"Sprained your…_what is the matter with you_?" Eruestan spluttered, hobbling up to them on his ankle. "What the hell were you thinking? You could have been killed!"

She shrugged. "I was on its neck, it couldn't have bit me."

"You could have gotten thrown off!" She raised an eyebrow. "Well, fine, probably not," he admitted. "But it was still reckless!"

"And it worked," she pointed out, letting Alistair help her to her feet. "Unless you'd like to be fighting a dragon for the next five hours?"

"We killed a dragon!" Leliana squealed, catching up to them. "We're officially legends! In Nevarra, they'd write epic poems about us!"

"Too bad we're not in Nevarra," Zevran said. "Now, shall we return to our friends the bloodthirsty villagers?"

Rowena stood up, clutching her wrist. There was a light breeze gently pushing her toward the cliff's edge. She peered over; to her surprise, a small footpath was carved out of the rock side, leading back down to the earth. "No," she said, turning back around. "Grab Cormac and Genetivi, we're taking the dragon's way down."

* * *

_Thank you so much again for the wonderful support! I hope everyone has a great holiday! _


	28. Correspondences

_A letter from the ambassador of Orlais to Ferelden to his wife_:

My Dear Wife Méritécourte,

How long it has been since we last spoke! I do hate to break such lovely silence with news that will be unpleasant to us both, but I am afraid it must be done: my dear, I am returning home. As vexing as this news is to me (as I am sure it is to you as well, my sweet!), there is no avoiding it. The entire Orlesian diplomatic party is to be escorted out of Ferelden within a week's time.

Believe me, my lovely, heinous bride, I tried to fight this decision with all the strength I had. However, the great houndlord Loghain proved stronger. Last night, I along with a few of my…friends…was rudely awakened in the middle of the night and dragged to the teyrn's office. There, I was stripped of my golden seals of diplomacy and placed in the custody of a military escort. I am now halfway between Amaranthine and Highever.

I shall return to Val Royeaux within a month. Be sure to move your lover out of the house before I arrive.

With deepest regards,

Minard, Marquis de Paufrecont

* * *

_An official letter to the Empress of Orlais, written on fine parchment and bearing the seal of the Fereldan Crown. _

To Her Imperial Radiance Celene, Empress of Orlais,

I am ashamed to write Your Radiance yet again regarding the behavior of my father towards your diplomatic corps. However, I must beg your forgiveness for the expulsion of the Marquis de Paufrecont from Denerim this past week. The death of my husband has affected all us of greatly, and I assure Your Majesty that my father's actions were merely an extension of this grief. Please send my deepest regards to the poor Marquis, and as for the letter my father sent along with him…well, all I can say is that I sincerely hope that Monsieur de Paufrecont had the good sense to rip it to shreds.

Regrettably, I must also inform you that as of now, the border between our two nations is closed by an act of the Crown. Regardless of what your ambassador might say, I assure Your Majesty that this decision was made out of the utmost consideration to you and your people. These darkspawn have proven to be a far greater threat than we had first anticipated; the imperative now is to keep as many innocents out of danger until the menace is dealt with. The Lord Regent Loghain and I wish to assure you, however, that as no Archdemon has yet ben sighted this outpouring likely is not a true Blight.

We are all thrown into difficult and trying times; the answers to our problems are anything but clear. I thank you for your words of comfort regarding the death of King Cailan. They were most appreciated.

Maker watch over you,

Anora Theirin, Queen of Ferelden

* * *

_A letter written hastily in strange symbols, hidden within the official missive to the Orlesian Empress. _

Celene,

There is no time for niceties. Prepare Orlais for war. At the moment Ferelden does not have the strength to defeat these darkspawn, and I greatly fear that we are to be plunged into another Blight. Already the south is lost to us; make sure that Orlais is ready when the time comes.

My father cannot know I am writing you like this. He is growing irrational and I am not sure how to act. It may come to the Empire to save us all.

Anora.

* * *

_The writing on this scrap of paper is laborious yet untidy, as if written by a very serious child. _

Howe,

Received reports that Wardens spotted in villages across Bannorn. Heading towards the Frostbacks. Assassin has either betrayed us or has been killed. Sweet-talking Antivan elf reported by informant – likely the former, then.

Told of growing unrest in Alienage. Must be dealt with quietly; raids against the elves attracts unwanted attention. Be discreet.

Highever. Redcliffe. The Wardens. You've failed me three times now, Howe. Take care not to do it again.

Loghain Mac Tir

* * *

_Another scrap of parchment, this one written in a clear hand. _

Lorris,

If I'd wanted your opinions, I'd have asked for them. I don't care how many of these bastards you have to imprison, so long as they keep asking questions we're keeping them under lock.

Send for some men to move my things into the Orlesian ambassador's quarters – there have been too many bags of flaming shite left for me on the doorsills of the Cousland estate for comfort. Besides, the Marquis's room had the best view of the royal gardens. Bring some of the good Antivan claret from the palace cellars while you're at it.

Your report on the Queen's actions was very interesting. Send the official letter to the Empress, but keep the second with us. Should Anora send any more messages to Orlais, let me know. With a bit of luck, we'll crack this code and win leverage against her with the teyrn.

As for the Tevinter magister, write him again expressing casual interest on my part in his proposal. His offer might actually be of use to us, provided we can give a proper front for them here in Denerim. Don't use the teyrn's seal until they begin to demand to see it – by that point, we should have a better idea of how to proceed anyways.

You did well spreading rumors of the Marquis de Paufrecont's treachery to Teyrn Loghain. With him out of the way, I should be able to obtain more influence with His Grace.

Do be sure to kill whoever hired that assassin for me.

Arl Howe.

* * *

_A fine-written letter on expensive parchment. _

Bann Sirra,

First, good news – there are living Wardens still; what's more, Rowena Cousland is one of them. Maker willing, Highever won't remain in Howe hands for long.

Unfortunately, I bear more bad news than good. All our worst fears are true. Lady Rowena confirmed that Arl Howe attacked the Cousland family with no provocation – she was the sole survivor. The Wardens also confirm that Teyrn Loghain betrayed the King at Ostagar – thus, he is to blame for Cailan's death.

While I wish I could say I knew where to go from here, I must admit I'm at a loss. My brother remains in critical condition, and our only hope at saving him seems to be based in superstition and legend. If Eamon does die, the Bannorn will have no opponent to rally behind against Loghain, especially now that Bryce Cousland is dead. We must pray to the Maker that my brother will be spared.

Regardless, my friend, spread the news across the Bannorn – the Wardens live, and Howe and Loghain are filthy traitors. They'll pay for their crimes, even if we have to call a Landsmeet to do it.

Have faith, Sirra. The Maker will guide us through these dark times, I am sure of it.

Teagan Guerrin

* * *

_Sorry for the filler chapter; longer one to follow today! Thank you again to the wonderful reviewers (especially the lovely mille libri and TallyGirl02); your support really means a lot to me! I hope everyone's had a nice holiday/break! _


	29. The Rose and the Maleficar

For the first time in months, Rowena was alone.

It was a strange feeling, one amplified by the size of the hallways in Redcliffe Castle. The others had all gone off into various corners of the building, either attending to Arl Eamon or to their own needs. She herself had been shut out of the arl's bedchambers during the healing rituals, a process that already had taken several hours. Now she was wandering the castle corridors, trying to get used to the sound of her own thoughts.

Hers were troubled, however. The terrible things she'd seen during the past months weighed heavily on her; now was the first time she was able to process it all. Corpses gnawing flesh off screaming bodies, Abominations ambling down dim-lit hallways, the horrible, leering grin of the darkspawn… "Stop," she said sternly. "You're a Cousland; don't crack now."

She was in front of an open door; intrigued, she looked through it. She recognized the room instantly – it was Arl Eamon's study. She had been here the last time she was at Redcliffe as a small girl.

From what she could remember, nothing had changed. A large oak desk was at the back wall, facing three giant windows with a stunning view of the lake below. She walked up to it and gazed around for a moment, letting her mind wander.

'_Da, what's that mountain over there?'_

'_That's Calenhad's Sword, Pup, and it's the tallest mountain in Ferelden.'_

'_I'm going to climb it, then.'_

'_I don't doubt that, Pup.'_

"Get out of my head," she snarled, trying to keep her eyes from watering. "Leave me alone!"

"You need only have asked," someone said from the corner; she started and spun around.

"Morrigan!" Rowena flushed deeply and quickly wiped the tears off her face. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."

"'Tis of little consequence," the witch said. "I half expected to be interrupted eventually." She tried to hide something behind her back; Rowena, however, noticed it.

"What are you reading?" she asked, smiling; the witch shook her head. "Oh, come on, don't be shy, it's not lewd, is it – _ouch_!" She had made a lunge for the book; the instant her fingers grazed the front cover, a bolt of electricity jolted her.

"Oh, honestly! I would have expected that from Alistair, but not from you, Rowena!"

"I thought I was being playful," she gasped, nursing her hand. "Maker's breath, Morrigan! What is that thing?" The witch hesitated. "Do you really think I'm going to let you get away without telling me?"

"Oh, all right," she sighed. "Though I doubt you shall like this…"

"Sounds promising," Rowena said, nervously eyeing the black leather book Morrigan had lain on her lap. "What is it?"

"This," she said slowly, "is my mother's grimoire."

"Oh! Really?" Rowena stared at it for a moment. "What does that mean?"

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "A grimoire is a collection of spells, an anthology of all the magic my mother possesses. The secrets inside could unlock the knowledge she's held for generations."

Morrigan was right – she didn't like this. "Where did you find it?"

"Surprisingly, the Circle Tower. Flemeth often talks about how she lost her book of spells in a Templar raid – this must be it. I have been trying to decipher it since I found it."

The book scared Rowena, and that interested her. "What's in it, if I can ask?"

"'Tis difficult to describe," Morrigan said. "'Twould be better to show you, I think." She opened the book and turned it around to show Rowena, revealing a series of blank pages.

For a moment, Rowena wasn't sure if the witch was teasing her. "Morrigan, there's nothing written down."

"Isn't there?" She looked surprised. "I wonder…Flemeth's magic has filled this book, making it difficult for even me to read. She may have enchanted it so that only those of her blood may be able to look at it."

"Would she trust you enough to let you read it?" Rowena hadn't been thinking when she asked it; it was the type of blunt questioning that normally made Morrigan so angry. The witch, however, seemed intrigued by the question.

"She would not," she said thoughtfully. "That requires…further reflection…"

Someone entered the room. "Oh, there you are, Rowena," Alistair said, smiling. "I've been looking all over for—oh. Hello, Morrigan."

"Do not waste your pleasantries on me, Alistair," she said icily, snapping her book shut. "I was just leaving."

"What, and deprive me of your company? You're too cruel." She shot him a cold glare before disappearing down the hallway. "Maker, is she hard to put up with."

"You don't exactly make it easy for her, either," Rowena pointed out, smiling gently.

"Who, me? Please, I'm an absolute pleasure to be with." He sat down next to her and smiled; to her surprise, her heart rate picked up a bit. "What was she showing you, anyways? A manual on devouring the souls of small children?"

Rowena realized that a former Templar might not like the idea of living next to an ancient witch's spellbook. "It was…her diary."

He shrugged. "Same difference. Bet it's written in blood, too." He grimaced. "We travel with some strange people, don't we?"

"That's an understatement." He looked remarkably good, smiling at her like that; she tried not to think too hard about it. "Speaking of which, where's everyone else?"

"Leliana's hearing a Chanting in the chapel; Sten's out training in the courtyard; Zevran's probably chatting up some besotted kitchen worker…and Wynne and Eruestan are still with the arl." He paused, a strange look in his eyes; she reached out and held his hand.

"He'll be all right, Alistair," she said. "We found the Sacred bloody Ashes – if they can't heal him, nothing can."

"That's just it, though," he said gruffly. "If they can't heal him…No, sorry, I shouldn't think like that."

She squeezed his hand and looked down. "I know how you feel," she said quietly. "There's nothing crueler than having to hold onto hope. But that doesn't mean we should ever give it up. Arl Eamon will get better, I promise."

"And they will find your brother," he said, squeezing her hand. She looked up at him – their heads were terribly close. For a moment, she could hardly breathe; then, Alistair coughed and looked out the window. "It's a beautiful view," he muttered, neck red.

"Er…yes! Yes, it is," she said, looking out as well. "My father used to test my geography from out this window."

"Arl Eamon used to do the same for me!" Alistair said in surprise. "Not that he thought of me as a son, of course…"

"I'm sure he cared about you as much as you did about him," she said. He smiled, yet did not look entirely convinced. "Come on, let's see who's a better teacher, Bryce Cousland or Eamon Guerrin," she teased, trying to distract him. "Geography contest, right now."

He grinned broadly. "Oh, I'm going to _destroy_ you, Lady Rowena." He pointed out the window at the giant mountain in front of them. "What's that, then?"

"Easy," she scoffed, "that's Calenhad's Sword. How tall is it?"

"3,400 feet," he said. "What's that village off to the northeast?"

She followed to where he was pointing. "That's Almstead."

"Wrong!" he cheered. "That's Crothby."

She frowned and shook her head. "Crothby's farther down."

"That's not true," he said, frowning as well. "Almstead is behind the cliffs, you can't see it from here."

"No, you can definitely see Almstead from the castle. I'm looking at it right now."

"There's a way to resolve this," he said.

"Admit that I'm right?"

"Find a map," he scowled. "I think there's an atlas in the bookshelf."

"I'll check the desk," she said as he crossed the room. The first drawer contained a few pieces of parchment and feather pens. The second was strangely full of different sized rocks; the content of the third, however, made her pause. Sitting in the center was a simple clay amulet bearing the Sacred Flames of Andraste. It had clearly been shattered into thousands of pieces; someone, however, had painstakingly reconstructed it, gluing all the shards back together.

"We're both wrong, it's Matterton," Alistair said, disappointed. "What's the matter with you?"

She bent down and picked up the amulet, hardly able to speak. "Oh, Alistair…look what he kept in his desk…"

The knight peered closely at the drawer and froze, his mouth open in shock. "That's…not possible," he whispered. "My mother's amulet…I never thought I'd see it again. The arl kept it here the whole time?"

She nodded. "You must have meant more to him than you realize, Alistair."

He stared at the amulet for a moment. "Thank you for showing me this," he said, voice suddenly hoarse. "For remembering, even...This…it means a lot." He blinked and looked down. "Actually, I've got something to show you, too – I've been carrying it around for a while and…" He pulled a rose from his pocket, one that somehow was still in full bloom.

For a moment, she didn't understand. "What's that?"

"I think it's a rose," he said, grinning. "I found it in Lothering, of all places. All that screaming and chaos, and here was this beautiful rose bush sitting all by itself. At first I took this because I didn't want all of them destroyed by darkspawn. Now that it's still so perfect, though…I don't know, there's something about this little spot of beauty in the middle of all this darkness…" He coughed and made nervous eye contact. "I guess it just reminds me of you."

For a moment she couldn't breathe. Her knees were weak, was that normal? Years of flattery and courtship, and no one had ever said anything quite so beautiful to her. Alistair clearly liked her – in fact, he liked her _a lot_.

But how did she feel about him? How were you supposed to know that about someone? Yes, he was handsome, and he was kind, and they had similar senses of humor, and spending time with him made her forget so many of the horrible things she had been through…

Now she had taken too long to respond, however. "And…you hate it," he said, face mortified as he drew back his hand. "Maker's breath, I'm a complete idiot – don't worry, I'll never bring this up again, I'm totally fine with staying friends—"

_WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU, COUSLAND? _"Alistair, wait!" She grabbed his arm and pulled him close. For an instant, their eyes locked, inches away from each other. _What nice eyes_, she thought. Then she leaned up and kissed him.

She immediately knew she had made the right decision. Alistair was shy, yet firm and gentle; she shivered as they drew apart. "I love it," she said. "It's beautiful."

Alistair looked dazed. "I, um, I'm glad, um, that…" He paused. "Is it all right if we do that again?"

She grinned and nodded. The second kiss was even better than the first, and lasted much longer…until someone coughed softly from the doorway.

The two flew apart to see Leliana, Zevran, and Sten standing at the entrance. "Bravo, my friends," Zevran said. Someone had given his hair a trim. "Is this kiss pre- or post-coital? Or preferably both?"

"Maker's breath!" Rowena choked. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Too long."

"Be nice, Sten." Leliana looked like she was almost tearing up in joy. "So sorry to interrupt, we just – _oh, but this is so exciting!_ Sorry, sorry – we just came to tell you that Arl Eamon is awake again."

They both started. "He is?" Alistair asked. "That's fantastic! We should get to him at once!" He took off down the corridor, leaving Rowena to deal with the wicked grins on her friends' faces.

"How lovely to see some of us finding sweet distraction during these troubled times," Zevran said, winking.

"Oh, like you've never seen two people kiss before," she said, smiling broadly. "Now come on, we should follow Alistair."

"Lewd behavior in the room of a sick man? My friend, you are filthy!" She rolled her eyes at Zevran and pushed forward, heading towards Arl Eamon's room.

"I for one think it's awfully romantic," Leliana said. "I'm glad you two could find a bit of happiness."

"Thanks, Leli." She held up the rose. "Look what he gave me."

To her surprise, Leliana's face fell. "Is that…that's one of my Maker roses!"

Rowena didn't like the sound of that. "Your what?"

"My Maker roses!" Leliana looked extremely upset. "When I first had my vision, I wasn't sure if I had just dreamt everything. Then the Maker revived a dead rosebush behind the chantry and let me know that it was all real! How dare Alistair take one?"

Her smile became a little strained. "Well, I mean, come on, Leli, you didn't tell any of us about that, how could he have known? And it is a very pretty rose…"

"Of course it's pretty! It's from the Maker!" She crossed her arms. "Give it back!"

"What? No!"

"Rowena, this was a special gift to me from the _Maker_. You _have _to give it back!"

"Leliana, you think _everything's _a gift from the Maker," Rowena snapped. "You said that about a butterfly and three different trees yesterday! Let me have this one gift from Alistair!"

"_Espèce de cat—_"

Someone tsked loudly in front of them; Wynne was stepping out of the arl's bedchamber, eyebrow raised. "The arl is still very weak," she chided. "Try to keep your voices down. That is a very lovely flower, Rowena."

"Thank you, Wynne," Rowena said, ignoring Leliana's glare. "Alistair gave it to me."

"Did he?" The mage furrowed her brow slightly, yet smiled. "That's very sweet – you all should head inside, though. Arl Eamon wants to speak with us. All except you, Zevran," she said, blocking his entrance. "I don't know if you should enter a convalescent's room."

"Who, me?" he said innocently. "My dear Wynne, I shall be the very soul of discretion."

"I was more worried about disease." She sighed and stepped aside. "Just don't try to seduce the arlessa. Or Bann Teagan. Or...well, anyone, really."

"I will not make any promise I cannot keep," he said solemnly. Rowena followed him into the room and blinked, eyes adjusting to the light. It was a large room filled with people; the Circle mages were slumped against the walls, exhausted from their efforts. The arl lay in a massive bed in the center of the room, head propped against a pillow. Rowena was shocked; Eamon looked like he had aged decades since she had last seen him. To his right, Eruestan was leaning against a bedpost, obviously trying to stay awake while Alistair, Bann Teagan, and the arlessa engaged in a heated discussion. Catching her eye, he smiled, shook his head wearily, and then focused back on the conversation.

"Of course I am grateful for what the Grey Wardens 'ave done, Teagan," Isolde was saying from her place at her husband's side, hand clasped in his. "And I suppose one day I shall 'ave to get used to seeing Alistair as Arl of Redcliffe. But to share a room with my newly-awakened 'usband and 'is natural-born son after my own 'as lost all 'is rights to 'is father's title – it is too much."

"We don't have time to leave you and Eamon be, Isolde," the bann said, annoyed. "We need to speak with him about the political situation in Ferelden. Besides, Alistair isn't going to inherit Redcliffe."

The arlessa scoffed. "Don't play me for a fool. Alistair may be a bastard, but 'ee is Eamon's last remaining 'eir."

"I'm not Arl Eamon's son, Lady Isolde!"

"Oh, of course not, you are just some poor innocent waif that my 'usband just _'ad_ to shelter in our _chateau_." She raised an eyebrow. "'Ow stupid do you think I am!"

"King Maric." Eamon's voice was so weak Rowena could barely hear it.

"What was that, my love?"

The arl took a deep breath and lifted his head. "Alistair is King Maric's son. Not mine."

"King Maric…" Isolde's eyes went wide. "You mean…Alistair…'ee is a prince? And you only tell me this now?"

"I'm not really a prince," Alistair muttered; the arlessa paid him no attention.

"You mean to tell me that for ten years, I 'arbored a challenger to the throne in my 'ome, and only now do I learn of it? 'Ow dare you!"

"Isolde," Teagan said gently, "we all swore…"

She stood up in rage. "_You_ knew? Teagan knew this before me? The spare brother knows before the wife?"

Teagan looked hurt. "We did it to protect you…"

"Protect me?" She laughed. "So you endanger my life and the life of my son, and think that anyone sent to kill Alistair would spare either of us because we knew nothing of him? You think my ignorance would save me? No, it is because you find me too weak to 'andle this information! Tell me, when Connor was possessed and the dead rose from their resting places, did I collapse in a ball and wait for someone to come save me? No. I went for 'elp – I calmed that beast – I fought for my son! Women fight – and yet so often it is only our enemies who recognize this. 'Safety' and 'protection' – tell me, did they spare Eleanor Cousland when they slaughtered her 'usband?" Rowena's heart panged, though her face revealed nothing; the arlessa glanced at her and flushed. "You should both be ashamed," she hissed, cutting off Teagan's protests. "I can't bear to look at you!" With that she burst out of the room.

For a moment, the room was silent. "Well, at least this trauma hasn't mellowed her out," the arl remarked.

"Maric made us promise," Teagan said, obviously wounded. "We were protecting Rowan's honor – and damn it, we _were_ protecting Isolde! Why can't she see how dangerous telling her would have been?"

"No, we should have told her," Arl Eamon said. "Still, I did promise the king…but no matter, what's done is done. Teagan, go find Isolde – I imagine she's with Connor. By the time you calm her down, I should be recovered enough to see my boy – send him in after I finish speaking with the Wardens." The bann nodded distractedly and ran out the doors. The arl coughed and shook his head. "I've never told my brother that I know he's in love with my wife," he said to the Wardens. "I expect the shame in that conversation would kill us both."

"With all due respect, Your Lordship," Eruestan said wearily, "after everything we've been through, I'd rather you not joke about dying for a while."

"Far too true," the arl said. "Wardens, I cannot express my gratitude enough. Redcliffe may be in a sorry state, but we all owe our survival to you."

"It was our pleasure," Rowena said. "Still, we didn't do it out of selflessness. We came to you with treaties pledging the Bannorn's support for the Wardens."

The arl smiled. "I see. Unfortunately, at the moment the country is far from united enough to compose a front strong enough to confront the Blight."

"Then how do we get the rest of the nobility on our side?" Eruestan asked.

"A Landsmeet," Rowena and the arl said at the same time.

"Oh!" He looked embarrassed. "I didn't know there already was a solution."

"The Landsmeet isn't always a solution," Rowena said, smirking. "It's a meeting of all the nobles in Ferelden. Any time there's a crisis the king can't resolve, the Bannorn meets to try and find an answer that works for everyone. It's been a few years since the last one."

"Five years exactly," Arl Eamon said. "The year we declared King Maric dead and gave his throne to Cailan. Now we must choose a new king once more." He turned to stare at Alistair, who went pale and began shaking his head.

"Thanks, but no thanks," he said. "I may be Maric's son, but I'm not fit to be his heir."

"No matter what the outcome is, we'll need the Landsmeet to address the Blight and challenge Loghain," Eamon said, frowning. "Without it there's no way Ferelden will come together into one army."

"How long will it take to summon everyone?" Leliana asked. "Ferelden is large, and there are many nobles…"

He shrugged. "Even in the best of circumstances, getting word across the entire Bannorn takes months – with the horde coming and civil war brewing, it might not be until the summer."

"The summer?" Eruestan said. "The darkspawn could be halfway to Minrathous by then!"

"Then we'll have to focus on our other treaties first," Rowena said. "The mages are already on our side – if we can get the dwarves and the elves as well, we'll already have a sizeable army by the time the Landsmeet is called."

"Good luck in Orzammar," Eamon said. "If you think the Bannorn's slow, try working with the dwarves. But let's speak of different matters – I understand that my son's a mage."

Wynne and Eruestan glanced at each other. "Yes," Wynne said. "Connor has a gift, one that he obviously needs to learn to control."

Eamon shook his head. "To think that the boy caused all this…"

"You mustn't blame him, Your Lordship," Wynne said. "Connor is a young boy, he had no idea of the forces he was dealing with – believe me, grown mages with full mastery of their powers have been forced to do far worse." Eruestan stirred slightly; Rowena wondered what he was thinking. Wynne still hadn't explained what was happening to her; whatever it was, it didn't sound good.

"That's not very reassuring," the arl said, smiling. "But don't worry, I don't blame him. When do you think he'll leave for the Circle, Enchanter?"

"Given the state of things, not anytime soon. Until then I imagine a small unit of Templars and a tutor from the Tower will be sent to Redcliffe to train him."

The arl sighed. "Speaking of tutors, there's the question of the apostate that started this whole mess."

Wynne looked pained. "I've already corresponded with the First Enchanter about him. As the Tower is in no shape to administer the Rite of Tranquility, Irving believes our only option is to…well, execute him."

The arl nodded. "I expected as much."

Rowena was shocked. "Jowan wasn't responsible for the demons, though!" she protested. "And he helped save your life! We couldn't have made it to the Circle without him standing guard here!"

"He also tried to poison me," the arl said. "Forgive me if I'm not inclined to kiss his feet."

"It doesn't seem fair, though," Alistair said. "It would have made perfect sense for Jowan to run once we'd left, but he stayed to help everyone."

"Justice isn't always fair," the arl said sternly. "An important lesson for a ki—for a Grey Warden to learn." Alistair nodded slowly; someone else, however, scoffed.

"'Justice'," Morrigan snapped, walking through the door. "Cover your misdeeds with fancy words if you like, you still cannot make them acceptable."

"The mage should have been put down from the beginning," Sten said. "His kind are dangerous."

"You think all mages are dangerous," Leliana said. "Jowan shows true repentance, he has done so much to redeem himself - it would be unholy to kill him now! I say we put it to a vote!"

The arl chuckled in disbelief. "A vote? Forgive me, but this is not your decision to make. This Jowan has betrayed my family and Redcliffe, I will see him punished."

"If your gratitude towards us is so complete, my lord, you will let us have our say," Rowena said. "We've had far more dealings with Jowan than you, we're better equipped to judge him." The two stared each other down for a moment; then the arl sighed and waved her on.

"Alistair, what do you say?"

The knight glanced over at the arl. "D-death," he stammered.

She nodded. "Leliana?"

"Spare him," she said firmly.

"Sten."

"Death."

"Wynne?"

The mage looked down at her hands. "Death," she murmured, face white.

"You already know my answer," Morrigan snapped. "Keep me out of this fool's trial."

"Zevran?"

"Hm?" The elf looked surprised. "Oh, I am to have an opinion on this? Put me down for 'undecided.'"

She turned back to her friend. "Eruestan?"

He was silent for a moment, his face unreadable. "I agree with the arl," he said finally, looking up at her.

Rowena paused for a beat; she remembered his conversation with the spirits in the Temple. "Are you sure?"

He nodded, face firm. "Jowan is a maleficar, no matter what good he's done. Even with the best of intentions, he's a threat to everyone around him. This is the only way to protect innocent people."

She bit her lip. "I don't like this."

"No one likes this decision," Arl Eamon said. "But the law is the law, and this mage must suffer the consequences of his actions."

"The law follows your interpretation," Morrigan said. "What natural law forbids a mage from using magic? His poisoning is his only crime, one that he has more than repented for – as of yet he has not used his powers for ill gain."

"There are several dead Templars at the Circle who would disagree," Wynne said. "And in any case, blood magic is punished both for the ill it causes and the potential it has to harm. Jowan could hurt a lot of people with his magic."

Rowena thought back to the Abominations at the Tower, with their horrible lurching strides. "If he's as dangerous as you say he is, then I agree," she said; despite her words, she felt sick. "We need to put him down to protect others."

"Then it is decided," the arl said. "Jowan will die tomorrow morning."

Morrigan growled in anger and stormed out the room, glaring at Rowena in contempt. She understood her rage – she herself wasn't sure she had just done the right thing.

"Again, Wardens, I am in your debt," Eamon said. "Once we have sent out a call for a Landsmeet, we should have a better idea of what we will need to do."

Rowena nodded. "In the meantime, though, where should we go?"

"The first winter snows in the Orlesian Pass will stop in two weeks," Leliana offered. "We can use that window to get to Orzammar before the later snows start again."

"An excellent idea," Eamon said. "You are of course welcome at Redcliffe until you leave. Now, Wardens, unless we have something else to discuss, I would very much like to see my son."

"Of course." The group began moving out of the room, opening the door to Connor.

"Grey Wardens," he stammered, trembling slightly. "I…I am v-very grateful…"

Rowena smiled down at him, heart aching. Though they looked nothing alike, she couldn't help but think of Oren as she stared at the Guerrin child. "Oh, all that was no problem, Connor," she said, stooping down to talk to him. "If you saw half of the things we've had to fight, you wouldn't feel bad at all about what happened here."

He smiled shyly. "Maman says you had to fight a dragon to find Father the Sacred Ashes."

She nodded. "It was twice the size of the castle, too, with teeth sharp enough to cut rocks in half."

"Don't listen to Lady Rowena, Connor," Arl Eamon chuckled. "The Couslands are renowned liars."

The boy went pale. "F-Father…"

"Ah, there's no need for that, son," the arl said gruffly. "Come here."

The Wardens left the room quietly, closing the door on father and son. "I hope he's gentle with the poor boy," Wynne said. "None of this tragedy was his fault."

"He should have put him down like he did the mage," Sten said. "It would have been a great mercy."

"Arl Eamon's not that kind of man," Alistair said tersely. "He'll be kind to Connor, trust me. I'm just glad this whole mess is over." He sighed and grasped Rowena's hand. "I'll see you later – I'm going to take a walk." He glanced awkwardly at the others, then leaned in and gave her a quick kiss.

Eruestan coughed as the knight began walking down the hallway. "Well, that's new."

She grinned at him. "Oh, there's a lot to fill you in on…" Wynne smiled slightly and passed them by. "By the way," Rowena murmured, "What's going on with Wynne? Do you have any idea what those spirits meant when they were talking to her?"

Eruestan paused. "I do," he said slowly, "but that's for Wynne to tell you, not me."

"Is it anything bad?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "I don't think so, though."

"All right, then – and hey." She grabbed his hand. "Are you all right? You look troubled."

He smiled at her. "Oh, don't worry about me. I feel great."

* * *

Night had fallen on Redcliffe Castle, and Eruestan couldn't sleep.

Part of the problem was that he had never slept alone before. Weeks of traveling and fighting had left him exhausted, yet his private room in the castle was too quiet to sleep in. He had been raised listening to the sounds of others falling asleep around him; now, the silence echoed in his ears like an ocean.

What was worse was knowing that someone else in the castle was struggling with the silence as well. Jowan had been the loudest snorer in the apprentice quarters – everyone had known that – but Eruestan doubted he was snoring now.

_I wonder if they've told him_, he thought, staring at the ceiling. _Would I want to be told?_ He wasn't sure what was worse, having to wait for the end to come, or sleeping away not knowing it would arrive. He supposed it didn't matter; either way, Jowan would be dead by morning.

He sighed and kicked off his blankets. There was no use pretending he would be able to sleep.

His fire had gone out hours ago; he threw a blanket over himself to fight the cold and pushed open his door. The hallway was dark – he snapped his fingers and summoned a ball of light, using it to walk himself down the corridor. There was a door leading to a small courtyard nearby; he walked through it and stepped out into the moonlight.

The air was bracing; he pulled his blanket closer and stepped out onto the grass. It was sharp and brittle underfoot, forcing him to hop over to a bench underneath a large tree. He sat down and stared at the moon, wondering when Jowan had last seen it.

"You are up very late, my friend," the tree said.

He jumped off the bench and looked up at the branches. "Zevran! What are you doing here?"

The assassin jumped to the ground. "The same reason you are, Eruestan. I cannot sleep."

Zevran was not wearing a shirt. His tattoos made him look almost otherworldly in the moonlight. "Aren't you cold?" Eruestan asked, shivering.

He shook his head. "Not tonight. I imagine you must be, though."

Eruestan smiled softly. "I haven't really thought about it. I've been a little distracted."

"Ah," he said. "You are thinking of your friend."

Eruestan stared back up at the moon. "Yes."

"He was also your lover?"

He wrinkled his nose. "No, just my closest friend for a while."

Zevran whistled. "And never once your lover? Friends in Ferelden are very different from ones in Antiva."

"Jowan and I would have been a very strange couple," Eruestan said. "Doesn't mean I can't think about him."

"You feel guilty, then?"

"What? No!" Eruestan said, staring at him. "Why would I? I stand by my decision to help him at the Tower, but Jowan's still a blood mage! He needs to be stopped now before he hurts someone else!" Zevran stared at him in silence; he suddenly felt the need to defend himself. "You weren't at the Tower, Zev, you have no idea the evils maleficar can do."

"Evils that this Jowan will do?" he asked. "As of yet he has not done anything wrong."

"He poisoned the arl! And he used blood magic to attack the Templars!"

"In both cases, his hand was forced. In Antiva we call this the instinct to survive. In every other instance, Jowan has used his magic to help others."

"It doesn't matter what he's done, it's what he _could_ do that makes him dangerous," Eruestan said. "Even if Jowan never intentionally hurts someone else with blood magic, he's now at a much higher risk of attracting demons. If he becomes an Abomination—" He thought of Wynne and fell silent.

"All this arguing, and yet still you do not seem convinced yourself," Zevran said.

"Well, what do you want me to say, Zevran? That I suddenly think blood magic is ok? That I think Jowan should be set free around innocent people? That I've forgiven him for betraying the Tower, for betraying me?"

"Ah," the assassin said, smiling slightly. "There it is."

"There what is?" Eruestan was getting annoyed. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing, my friend. I would just hate to think that a man's life depended on the feelings of a jilted friend."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Zevran."

"Perhaps not," he admitted, "though if this is the case, then you must explain to me why a young man who has made what most would call a logical decision cannot sleep at night, unless he fears that his choices were not motivated by justice."

Eruestan was quiet for a moment. "He betrayed all of us, Zev. The Tower, his girlfriend, me…what am I supposed to say?"

Zevran's face was unreadable. "I once thought that someone close to me betrayed me as well. I punished her for it…only to discover that she had been innocent. I have never forgiven myself for her death; I do not want the same fate for you."

Eruestan smiled weakly. "I don't think I've ever heard you be that serious before."

Zevran did not smile. "It is a serious matter."

He couldn't tell if it was from the air or Zevran's eyes, but Eruestan was starting to feel cold. He imagined Jowan felt much colder – he was always complaining about the drafts in the Tower, and when winter came…

"_I hate winter," Jowan had grumbled, holding a small ball of flame up against the window. "I can't believe we have to do this."_

"_I can't believe you knocked over a bookshelf in the library," Eruestan replied, ignoring the numbness in his feet. He and Jowan were young teenagers, and they were melting the ice on the apprentice quarter's windows as punishment for Jowan's actions. "I keep telling you, find out what spells do before you test them."_

"_I totally researched that spell beforehand!" Eruestan raised an eyebrow. "Well, I skimmed it. Whatever. I'm sorry you got dragged into this, though."_

_He had smiled and shrugged. "It keeps things interesting. You can always count on me, Jowan."_

Eruestan had stopped breathing for a moment. "Zevran, I think I've made a mistake; a terrible, terrible mistake."

It was remarkable how quickly the assassin's attitude changed. "Wonderful!" he said, grinning broadly. "This is great news!"

Eruestan was nauseated. "Is it?"

"Indeed," Zevran said, smiling. "For you see, my friend, I think I have a way for you to fix this."

* * *

The two guards stood in front of the dungeons, trying to ignore the cold and the shadows. "Maker, it's dark down here, isn't it, Emma?" one said, shifting uncomfortably.

"I mean, we are in the dungeons, Harker," she said. "Wouldn't make sense to have a lot of windows."

"It's still creepy, though." He was silent for a moment. "I still hear them sometimes, you know. In my dreams."

"Andraste's arse…"

"What? They damn near killed all of us! Don't pretend you can't hear them anymore!"

"Harker, I don't get paid nearly enough to sit here and listen to you talk about your dreams, ok? So shut up and keep watch."

"Wait, you get paid to do this?"

Before Emma could reply, a flash of blinding white light filled the hallway; then, two rocks flew through the air and cracked into their foreheads, knocking both unconscious.

Eruestan ended his light spell and looked over at Zevran, who dropped the other stones he was carrying. "Really? That was your plan? Knock them out with rocks?"

"It worked, did it not? Besides, now instead of accusing the two dashing heroes of assaulting them, they'll think Jowan used his blood magic to escape."

"'Dashing' isn't quite the adjective I'd use…"

"You wound me. In any case, let us free Jowan before anyone finds us."

Using the key from one of the guards' belts, the two entered the dungeons, Eruestan lighting up the room with magic. Jowan was huddled in the back of his cell, head between his knees. "Who's there?" he said sharply, squinting in the light. "I have until morning!" He peered closely, then stopped as he recognized who was there. "Ah. Eruestan. Did you come to finish me off, then?"

"Not quite," Eruestan replied. "We're here to bust you out."

Jowan spat. "If you're here to mock me, save your breath, the guards alread_aaaaAAA!_" Eruestan had slammed a hole into the bars with magic, wide enough for Jowan to slip through. "You—you're actually going to help me?"

"Don't make me change my mind," Eruestan said. "Zev, hurry and pick those locks before someone finds us."

The assassin snuck through and bent over the handcuffs. "This should be quick – _merda!_" He stood up quickly, throwing a red-hot lockpick to the ground. "The cuffs are enchanted!"

Eruestan frowned. He had known that the locks couldn't be broken with magic, but he had hoped that Zevran would be able to pick them. This was going to complicate matters. "Is there another way to break them?"

"We could beat them open with a rock?"

"I'd rather not go with that option," Jowan said.

"You are not in much of a position to disagree, my friend."

"There has to be another way," Eruestan mused. "Maybe if we—what was that?" Voices were echoing down the hall. "Shit! Zev, get back here!" The assassin jumped back through the bars; gritting his teeth, Eruestan brought his hands together, bringing the cell's bars back into place. "Jowan, pretend to be asleep – Zev, we need to—"

The voices were getting louder. "Rowena, keep that mutt quiet or the entire castle shall hear us!"

"He's not a mutt – and stop saying my name! Everyone's going to know we're here!"

"Both of you, stop talking! Honestly, it's like you've never busted anyone out of prison before…"

"We haven't!"

"That should not make any difference—oh! What happened to these guards?"

Eruestan and Zevran exchanged looks, then opened the dungeon door and stepped out into the landing. "Well, well, well," Eruestan said, raising an eyebrow. "Fancy meeting you here."

Rowena, Morrigan, and Leliana stared at them for a moment, jaws open. "What are—what are _you_ doing here?" Morrigan spluttered, the ball of light in her hands flickering. "You wanted to have him killed!"

"I had a change of heart," Eruestan said. "Though it's good to know how seriously our group decisions are taken."

"I could say the same to you," Rowena said, crossing her arms. They frowned at each other for a moment, and then broke out into large grins.

"I'm glad you're here," Eruestan said, leading them into the dungeons. "The runes on Jowan's cuffs are melting lockpicks and I don't know how to open them."

"Let me try," Leliana said firmly. "Hello, Jowan!"

"Hi, Perky Orlesian Lady," Jowan said as Eruestan blasted the bars apart again. "Have you done something with your hair? It looks different."

"I parted it on the other side this morning!" Leliana beamed, bending over his cuffs. "Thank you for noticing! Do you like it?"

"Sure! It frames your face very well."

"A bit of focus, please," Rowena called. "So what exactly were you two doing together before coming down here?"

"Just talking!" Eruestan realized that he had said that too quickly; she began to grin wickedly. "Oh, shut up."

"_Ouch_!" Leliana stood up, nursing her fingers. "_Putain de bordel de merde—_"

"Stop!" Morrigan said. "Someone's coming!"

Eruestan swore loudly. "Leliana, get back here!" He wrenched the bars back yet again; this was swiftly getting old. "We have to—"

"Alistair, don't move so quickly, you're going to wake up the whole castle!"

"Wynne! Don't say my name! Everyone will know it's me!"

"For the love of—," Eruestan said, pushing open the door again; Alistair and Wynne stood blinking in the hallway. "Why do we even bother discussing anything with each other?"

"At least we all reach the same decisions independently?"

"Wynne?" Rowena asked.

"I've had enough of death," Wynne said simply. "In any case, I felt a little…hypocritical..."

Rowena frowned. "Hypocritical how?"

"None of that matters; this is all useless regardless," Eruestan interrupted; now was not the time for that discussion. "Jowan's hands are bound with runes, we can't break the locks."

"Actually, I think I might be able to help with that," Alistair said. "Here, let me have a go…"

For the last time, Eruestan blasted the iron bars apart; Alistair slipped through and bent over Jowan. Within a minute, the mage was free.

"How did you do that?" Eruestan asked. "Leliana and Zevran had no idea what to do!"

"'No idea' is a bit harsh," Leliana said, frowning.

Alistair shrugged. "It's one of the few Templar tricks I picked up."

"How many more Templar tricks can there possibly be?" Rowena asked.

Jowan stood up, rubbing his wrists. "Thank you, all of you," he said, voice gruff. "I…I don't deserve to be spared like this."

Eruestan looked at him for a moment, his heart heavy. "Can I have a moment alone with Jowan, please?" Everyone nodded and left the room, leaving the two alone.

The two former friends stared at each other, silence echoing in the dark dungeons. "I missed you, Eruestan," Jowan said finally. "I'm so sorry—"

"Don't," Eruestan said. "I've heard enough apologies. But promise me one thing, Jowan – use your magic to help people. Ferelden is falling to pieces; if you're able to use magic no one else can, use it to save people who can't save themselves."

"I will," Jowan said. "Thank you, Eruestan – I promise I won't fail you again."

Eruestan's heart was heavy. "Maker be with you, Jowan."

"And with you, Eruestan." The mage stepped out of his cage and, hesitating slightly, gave Eruestan a hug before vanishing into the black tunnel. Eruestan stared into the darkness for a moment, then turned back, ready to join his friends once more.

* * *

_I've actually made a few changes to what I originally posted; certain elements didn't work with how I thought busting Jowan out should go. Thank you for all the wonderful support, and I hope everyone had a great holiday! Feel free to review!_


	30. In the Halls of the Dwarven Kings

_Just wanted to let everyone know that I changed the ending to the last chapter slightly; nothing major, but it will affect certain aspects of the story! _

* * *

Breaking into the farmhouse had been easy. The hard part was figuring out what to take.

"They left almost everything," Marta murmured, looking around. "Must have been in a rush."

Joanna snorted. "Idiots. Take your time going through this place; house this big may have something valuable hidden inside."

She nodded, ignoring the uneasy feeling on the back of her neck. Looting with Joanna had been fun in the beginning, when people were first fleeing the Blight. After all, Joanna was pretty, the work had been exciting, and there hadn't been any real sense of danger. Now, however…

Somewhere in the distance a dog howled; she jumped a good two feet. "Andraste's ass, what's the matter with you?" Joanna laughed. "You losing your cool?"

She smiled weakly, wondering how her partner managed to keep her nerve. The sky had turned black weeks ago, plants were withering – just yesterday they'd fought off a wolf driven mad by the Taint. Joanna said they'd leave the next morning, pack up a caravan and go. Marta couldn't wait.

Joanna was rifling through the cabinets, throwing pewter plates into the bag at her feet. "Check that chest, will you?" she asked, pointing to a box under a window. "Maker, these people were loaded..."

She nodded and bent down. The wind outside had picked up; the horses were whinnying loudly. "Where will we go after this?" she asked, working at the lock. "Denerim, Amaranthine?"

"I was thinking the Free Marches."

"The Free Marches?" She was shocked. She had never left the Southern Bannorn before, let alone the country.

Seeing the surprise in her eyes, Joanna dropped the plate she was holding and grabbed her in her arms. She felt warm, safe. "We don't want to stay in Ferelden," she said gently, squeezing her. "This whole country's going to be swallowed by the Blight; the sooner we go across the Waking Sea, the better. If we can get to Kirkwall or to Ostwick, we'll be safe."

Marta smiled. "I don't know a word of Marcher."

"_Guten Tag_ means hello. We can figure out the rest."

The horses started to shriek outside; they jumped and looked out the window to see one galloping off into the distance, having burst free of its constraints. "Shite!" Joanna shouted, grabbing her hatchet. "Someone's running off with the horses!" Marta rushed forward with her mallet; Joanna pushed her back. "Stay here and wait for my signal," she said. "You might be able to surprise them." She nodded and drew back as Joanna headed outside, hatchet tense.

There was silence, and for a moment all Marta could hear was the beating of her own heart. Then Joanna began to scream, a more blood-curdling, horrific scream than she had ever heard.

Marta's heart stopped. The screams cut off abruptly; loud, dull thuds had replaced them. Something outside was roaring. Struggling to breathe, she began to move forward when something crashed through the front window. It rolled on the floor until it stopped at her feet, eyes dull. Joanna's head had been severed from her neck, blood dripping on the floor.

Marta screamed. She kept screaming as the darkspawn burst into the farmhouse, the sound echoing over the plains for no one to hear.

The horde had entered the Southern Bannorn.

* * *

The snow became thicker the higher they went; Eruestan had been cold for so long that he had forgotten what being warm felt like. "Please tell me we're getting close," he said, shivering. "I'd like to not be completely covered in frostbite when we get to Orzammar."

"It can't be too much farther," Rowena said. "It's only halfway up the mountain. Could someone fire me, please?"

He sighed and waved his hand; a small ball of flame started hovering over her head. She shuddered in the warmth, then nodded for him to end the enchantment. Maintaining the fire spell would have been too much of a drain – he already had a headache from the magic he was casting. "Anyone else need some? Sten?"

The Qunari glared at him for a moment, and then pushed forward. Eruestan followed him uneasily. Sten had been more taciturn than usual ever since they had left Redcliffe, and Eruestan felt he knew why. Everyone else at the castle had believed them when they said Jowan had used blood magic to escape; Sten, however, had seemed less convinced. Eruestan hoped this wouldn't cause any trouble.

"Well, I for one wouldn't say no," Leliana said; Wynne waved her hand and summoned another ball of flame. The bard sighed. "Honestly, I haven't been this cold since I had to sleep on the roof of Chateau Vaulapenne during Lady Glorianne's masquerade."

"Tell me, Leliana, how many of these stories do you end up making up on the spot?" Alistair asked.

She grimaced. "Unfortunately, hardly any." The fire spluttered out. "_Merde_! How on earth do you people stay warm?"

"I have a few ideas," Zevran said, winking.

She glared at him. "Zevran, I would literally rather freeze to death."

"Oh, Leliana, I'm sorry," Wynne sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Here, I'll…" She waved her hands once more; flame flickered over the Orlesian's head, and then vanished once more. "Oh, hell – I'm sorry, it…it must be the cold, it's making me useless."

"So has Alistair just been cold this whole time, then?" Morrigan asked; the knight shot her a withering look and pushed ahead.

Wynne looked pained. "Let me try again…"

"It's fine, Wynne," Eruestan said; he didn't want the others to think anything was particularly amiss. She fell silent and walked ahead as he cast the fire spell.

Zevran sidled up to Eruestan. "Impressive spell work, _bellissimo_; though, you know, as I said, there are more enjoyable ways to keep warm...ways I'd be more than willing to help you with."

Eruestan rolled his eyes. "You've made that very clear, Zev."

The elf winked. "Good. I hope you will be as blunt with me when the time comes."

Eruestan paused, not sure how to respond. An awkward moment passed; then the assassin smirked and walked ahead. Within seconds Rowena had taken his place. "He liiiiikes you," she teased.

"Shut up."

"He wants to maaaaarry you."

Eruestan raised an eyebrow. "You think Zevran wants to get married to anyone?"

She considered that for a moment. "Fair enough. He definitely wants to sleep with you, though."

"Zev wants to sleep with everyone."

"True, but you'd be his first choice." She nudged him in the side. "Hey, it's a good thing! You deserve a little fun!"

He smiled – he felt she was right, though it was cocky to admit it. There was no denying that he liked Zevran, and it was nice to hear others suggest that his feelings were shared. Still, it was silly to pretend that the assassin's attraction to him signified anything more than sexual interest, and for some reason that sat poorly with him. He decided to shift the topic. "And what about you? You deserve fun, too."

She glanced up at Alistair and smiled. "I really like him, Eruestan."

"Is that so?"

"Don't look at me like that," she said, blushing. "We haven't done anything yet."

"You haven't?"

"You're starting to sound like Zevran," she said. "And it's not like we've had much time – it felt strange trying anything at Redcliffe, and when we're on the road it's almost impossible to find time alone together. And anyways, I haven't had a bath in a week…"

Eruestan wrinkled his nose. "I don't blame you there…wait, do you hear something?"

"We're here!" Alistair called back suddenly. "We've reached the trader's camp!"

They hurried to join the others at the top of the hill. As they reached the summit, Eruestan stopped for a moment and whistled. The path ended at a large clearing surrounded by mountains on all sides. Dwarves, humans, and elves walked around a small shantytown of large canvas tents, all squabbling over wares and keeping warm near giant fire pits. In the distance, two giant doors towered over the camp, each bearing the carved face of a dwarven warrior.

"I've never been to Orzammar," Rowena said in awe. "My father said the dwarves can be worse than the Orlesians."

"The Dwarva can be very particular," Wynne said, leaning on her staff. "I've been twice to secure lyrium deals for the Chantry – their manners are very different from ours."

"But the clothes are fantastic!" Leliana said. "Very finely sewn; most of them even have chainmail."

"Really?" Rowena asked. "Why?"

"Evidently dwarven dinner parties are very dangerous," Leliana said. "I've heard it's common to have two stabbings before dessert's served."

Alistair sighed. "Great – now we can't even relax at meals."

The group made its way down to the camp, passing various booths for different merchants. "Ah, leather," Zevran said suddenly. "I love the smell of leather."

"No surprise there," Eruestan said, smiling.

He smiled and shook his head. "I am not that stereotypical, my friend. I was raised over a leatherworker's shop; the smell reminds me of home."

"Was your father a leatherworker?"

"No, I was raised in a brothel."

Eruestan stared at him.

"On second thought, I may be more stereotypical than I thought." He scratched his head. "Let me explain: my mother was a whore. Well, no, that is not right – she was Dalish. My father was a woodcutter, and one day she met in him the forests outside Antiva City as he was collecting supplies. She fell in love with him, and she left her clan for him. Unfortunately, he died shortly afterwards. The only solution remaining to her was to sell her body." He paused. "Granted, she died not much longer after I was born, so these stories are largely based off the words of the other prostitutes…though I have found that there is no one quite as trustworthy as a whore, no? In any case, they were lovely ladies – excellent singers. They even tried to hide me away when the Crows first bought me."

He said this all with a nonchalance that Eruestan found unnerving. "When was this?"

"When I was seven." He bent in to look at the belt more closely. "I did not cry much – they beat that out of me as soon as possible."

Eruestan was at a loss for words. "Zev, that's horrible!"

"Is it?' he asked lightly. "I imagine you went through the same ordeal, being sent to your Tower."

"We were never beaten!"

"Really? Hm. Perhaps I should have been a mage, then. Anyways, I do very much like the smell of leather."

He walked away, not looking back. Eruestan watched him go, deeply sorry for everything he'd been through. He glanced down at the belt Zevran had been eyeing. "How much for this?"

Throwing his purchase into his backpack, he jogged ahead to join Leliana and Alistair. "There really are great things to buy here!" she said. "Look at that necklace, it's beautiful!"

"_Merci_." The Orlesian merchant had beady eyes. "A gift for you, _mademoiselle_." He slid a nightingale made of porcelain across the counter. Each wing bore an elegant 'M' crafted out of jade.

"Aw, how pretty!" Alistair cooed; Leliana, however, threw herself across the counter, trying to grab the vendor. He was already gone, however, vanished into the crowd. "_Putain de merde!_" Enraged, she grabbed the bird and smashed it to the ground.

"Maker's breath, Leliana!" Alistair grabbed her arm and ushered her forward, looking around at the surly faces staring at them. "You're going to get us chased out of here with pitchforks!"

She wasn't listening. "How did she find me, " she muttered, eyes scanning the crowd. "How did she know I would be here…"

Eruestan remembered the arrow that had been fired at them at Brother Genetivi's house. "Is this the same woman who attacked us in Denerim?"

"She's not attacking," she replied, still lost in thought. "We'd know it if she wanted to attack us…No, she just wants me to know that she's watching…"

Alistair and Eruestan glanced at each other. "Who?"

"Marjolaine," she spat. Seeing their confused faces, she shook her head and said, "I'll explain later. We should head into the city."

She walked ahead; Alistair and Eruestan exchanged another look. "Do you ever wonder if sooner or later one of these people are going to get us killed?" Eruestan asked.

"All the damn time." Suddenly there was a roar from in front of them; Sten was holding a dwarf by the collar, having already smashed his booth to bits. "Andraste's ass! Can we not go five minutes here?"

They ran forward; Rowena was trying to calm the Qunari down. "Where did you find that sword?" he bellowed, swatting her back with his free hand. "Who gave it to you?"

"Master Janar made it!" the merchant shrieked. "I sell his wares topside!"

Sten threw the dwarf to the ground and picked up a longsword that had been lying at his feet. He gave it a few swings, then threw it to the ground in disgust. "This is not Asala," he spat. "This is not my sword."

"Next time, try to check that before you destroy someone's stall!" Rowena hissed, looking around at the crowd gathering around them.

Sten towered over the merchant. "Where is your master's store?"

"The Upper Smith's Ring," he gasped. "He has one of the largest in the city, you can't miss it!"

Sten crossed his arms. "This Master Janar has been using my sword as a template for his own wares," he said, already walking towards the gates. "He has much to answer for when we enter the city."

"If we get there in one piece," Alistair muttered, pushing through a crowd of glowering looks. Eruestan followed him uneasily, wary of what the Qunari could do.

Upon reaching the gates, Eruestan started to realize how massive the dwarven capital had to be. The doors alone were hundreds of feet tall, reaching up at least halfway through the mountain. The faces carved on them were startlingly lifelike; a small chill went down his back.

They climbed the great steps leading to the entrance; as they reached the top, they discovered they weren't the only ones trying to enter Orzammar.

"This is ridiculous!" a man was yelling, waving a piece of paper around. "I am on direct orders from the Lord Regent to hand this missive to the King of Orzammar! I will not be pushed aside!"

The guard did not move. "Serah, I've already told you, while His Majesty is ill no one is allowed to enter the city without prior invitation, emissaries and ambassadors included."

"The king's sick?" Rowena murmured. "That can't be good."

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "Well, so long we can find the remains of a different prophet, we should be fine."

They pushed their way to the front. "Hello," Rowena said pleasantly. "I'm afraid my companions and I need access to the city as well."

The guard sighed and rubbed her temple. "How many times do we have to tell you people? Until His Majesty recovers no one is allowed in!"

"Allow me to introduce myself," she said. "I am Lady Rowena of House Cousland; I come as a representative of the Grey Wardens. We have these treaties that promise Orzammar's aid during a Blight."

The guard took the papers. "Grey Wardens, eh?" She peered closely at the treaty. "Sweet Stone, these are ancient…still, it does bear the royal seal…" She turned to her colleague and said something in Dwarven; the other woman disappeared inside a side door. "Frigga's going to check the protocol book."

"Is this a joke?" Loghain's man asked, jaw dropped. "We've been waiting here for three weeks!"

"And you're likely to be waiting here for a lot longer," the guard retorted.

"This is an outrage!" he spluttered. "The Wardens are great traitors! I cannot let you allow them to pass!"

"Political squabbles on the Surface mean little to us," the guard replied. "The Wardens bear documents with the royal seal; that counts as an invitation inside to me. Besides, if you think the Dwarva are going to ignore the Grey Wardens in the middle of a Blight, then you've got rocks for brains!"

The other guard returned, reading from a large volume. "Book 4: Crises. Part 3: Quarantines. Chapter 17: Illness of the Monarch. Article 48: The Gates. Section 117: The Grey Wardens – Blight. Clause 29: Ancient Treaties. 'Should the Grey Wardens come to Orzammar in a time of quarantine bearing ancient documents requesting aid during a Blight, the guards on duty are to send them directly to the monarch or the monarch's regent.'" She looked up from the book. "We should let them in, Ingmar."

"Excellent." She turned to the party and smiled. "Welcome to Orzammar, Wardens." She motioned her hand, and suddenly the gates groaned open, vibrating so heavily the ground shook. Eruestan moved to walk forward; then, someone behind him drew his weapon.

"I won't let this happen!" the ambassador yelled, spit flying. "I arrest these Wardens in the name of Queen Anora!"

Eruestan and Rowena exchanged a look. The mage snapped his fingers; the man's sword went flying through the air, letting Rowena catch it. She tossed it to the ground; Cormac started growling at her side. The man gaped at her, jaw dropped. "No one's arresting anyone today," she snarled, sword drawn. "Unless anyone wants to object?"

His fellows looked at her, at the ambassador, and then at the rest of the party, eyes lingering on Sten and her growling hound. Visibly paler, they all dropped their weapons.

"That's what I thought," Rowena said. "Now go and tell Loghain that if he wants to drag us back in chains, he's going to need more men than this."

She turned around and led the group through the gates, ignoring the horrified gasps of the ambassador. A dwarf dressed in fine clothes bustled forward to greet them. "Wardens," he gasped. "_Dobra pazhalobat' na Orzammare_! I am Rolfdir, your personal guide through the city. Have you been to Orzammar before?"

"_Da, a nedavno_," Wynne said, smiling. "I visited His Majesty a few years ago, to bargain for the Chantry's shipment of lyrium."

"Ah." Rolfdir hesitated. "I would keep this information to yourself; many in Orzammar view these deals with the Chantry to be a great scandal against the Dwarva. Follow me, please!"

Wynne shook her head as he began to bustle down the hallway. "Dwarves…they charged us an arm and a leg, and they have the gall to call us swindlers? They astound me."

"Your Dwarven sounds very good, though," Leliana said. "I've always wanted to learn."

"I recommend getting drunk first – oh, everyone, pay attention! This view is incredible!"

Rolfdir was waiting for them as they approached. "This is the Hall of Heroes," he said, stretching an arm out onto the massive chamber sprawled out before them. "This is the main thoroughfare between Orzammar and the surface, and is the only part of the city where the Dwarva can interact with surface dwellers. The statues lining the street are of the city's Paragons."

Eruestan's eyes widened. The cavern was giant, containing a large bridge that led to a second set of gates on the other end. Hundreds of dwarves were milling about, most seemingly out for a stroll. Giant statues stood in shallow alcoves along the highway, towering into the shadows near the ceiling. The sheer size of everything was overwhelming, and left him speechless.

Leliana did not suffer from the same problem. "This is marvelous! Who are the Paragons?"

"The Paragons are the greatest of the Dwarva," Rolfdir replied. "They are inventors, artists, warriors, and politicians; every noble house can trace their descent from one of them. Their presence here sanctifies this hall, which is why dwarves on the surface are permitted within."

Eruestan observed a group of men and women loading carts near the far entrance. "Are they not allowed elsewhere?"

Wynne shook her head. "The dwarves believe that once you breach the surface, you lose your connection to the stone. You become casteless, and are only allowed back into the city proper on particular invitation. It's a cold practice."

"I will do the explaining from here, if you please," Rolfdir said, slightly rankled. "Follow me, please."

The group raced forward, trying to keep pace with the fast-moving dwarf. The dwarves on the thoroughfare stepped deftly out of their way, eyes wide as they looked up at Sten. It was funny that they should be so intimidated; the Paragons were easily twenty times Sten's height. Eruestan glanced up at the closest one; like the gates, its face was far too accurately carved. Whoever it was glared back down at him; he shivered and moved forward.

The gates at the other end of the hall were already opened. "We will soon be stepping onto the main road in Orzammar, the Aeducan Prospect," Rolfdir said, walking ahead. "This plaza is Queen Valda Square; it provides a lovely view of the whole city."

The impressive views were getting to be too much; Eruestan felt he needed to sit down. The mountain holding Orzammar was hollow; the city wrapped around the inside in several layers, each bearing several rows of road. The floor of the mountain was a sea of lava; a bridge led to a large building standing freely in the center of the city. From his view, Eruestan could see all of Orzammar, which seemed to be rigidly structured; the higher one went, the larger and nicer the buildings. The area they were in was nice enough: shops, gardens, and houses.

"These are the Commons, home to the Warrior, Smith, Artisan, Miner, Merchant, and Servants Castes," Rolfdir said. "These layers are devoted to shops; should you wish to buy anything during your time here, I suggest you come to the stores on this level. Before you across the bridge is the Proving Arena, where the noble fighters of Orzammar combat for glory and honor. We will be heading to the royal palace, high above the city in the Diamond Quarter." He pointed to a grand palace above them on the highest level.

"You said the Smiths live in this section?" Sten asked.

Rolfdir nodded. "They are a little higher up; we will pass them on our way to the palace."

"Then I wish to stop at Master Janar's store on our way."

"Impossible," the dwarf said. "I am to take you straight to the palace, no exceptions."

Sten bent down and stared the dwarf in the face. "Then make one."

"It's ok, Sten," Rowena said, stepping between them. "We can visit the smith later." He glared at her for a moment, then nodded slowly. "All right, Rolfdir, we're read—Rolfdir?" The dwarf has already doven into the bustling crowd.

"Maker's breath!" Rowena said, tearing after him. "Thank the Maker everyone here's as tall as a ten-year-old; we'd never find him otherwise."

Some of the dwarves passing by heard her and shot her a nasty look. "It might be best to keep comments about height to ourselves," Wynne said gently. "Dwarves can be…sensitive…"

The streets were crowded; most of the dwarves were dressed finely, wearing bright silks and flashing metals. Men and women kept their hair in intricate braids piled on top of their heads; exquisite jewelry sparkled from every neck, wrist, and finger. As they pushed their ways through, more and more people began looking at them suspiciously.

"They're not very friendly here, are they?" Leliana asked after a man holding several strange animals in a cage nearly knocked her over. "Oh, look! Did any of you see those animals? They looked like little bunny-pigs!"

"I think that's a nug," Wynne said, wrinkling her nose. "Vile creatures; their legs end in hands, you know…oh, a tavern! Have any of you ever tried dwarven ale?"

A red-haired dwarf with a gnarled beard stumbled out the door and threw up onto the street. "I'm not sure I want to," Eruestan said, stepping around him.

"Hey, lady," the dwarf groaned, grabbing his head. "Nice rack."

"A fellow appreciator of Wynne's lovely bosom!" Zevran cried. "How do you manage so many admirers?"

"I generally prefer mine to be less covered in their own vomit," Wynne said. "And Zevran? Stop. Talking. About. My. Bosom."

He shrugged. "She'll come around. Though to be honest, there is nothing more attractive than a dwarf – don't you agree, Eruestan?"

Eruestan smiled, though the comment sat a little poorly on his mind. "I don't know many dwarves; I'll have to get back to you."

"The city is remarkably clean, though," Leliana said. "You must have a wonderful program for taking care of the poor."

"Oh, we do, to be sure," Rolfdir said. "But please, keep your voices down; we are approaching the Diamond Quarter."

The higher they climbed up the city, the wider the streets were, and the nicer the houses. The crowds thinned as well, to the point that the city became rather quiet. "Where is everyone?" Alistair asked.

"Most of the city's nobility is outside the palace, attending to the king," Rolfdir replied. "You will wait with them until I can send word to Lord Harrowmont."

They turned a corner; true to his word, a large crowd was gathered outside a building that stretched to the heights of the city. "Lord Harrowmont?" Rowena asked.

"He is King Endrin's second," the dwarf replied. "While the king is ill, he has taken charge of the city. Now wait here, if you please – I will fetch His Lordship."

They stood awkwardly for a moment at the back of the crowd. "It really is a beautiful city," Leliana said. "Though all that lava must make people nervous."

"I'm just surprised it doesn't smell awful," Alistair remarked. "All these dwarvres, cooped up in this hole? I was expecting a sewage pit."

"Watch your words, Topsider," a noblewoman near them said. "The Dwarva do not take kindly to insults from the Stoneless."

He blinked. "Oh, no, no, no, I wasn't trying to insult you, it was a logistics question, honest!" She shot him a withering look and turned back to face the doors. "You know, I'm starting to think they should have really added 'tact' to the Warden training regiment."

"We're not going to defeat the Archdemon with polite conversation," Rowena said, scanning the crowd. "Maker, I hope he hurries up, I hate dealing with crowds of nobles. I feel like a debutante again."

"I always wanted to be a debutante," Leliana said wistfully. "I still remember the first ball I went to—the dresses were incredible."

"What were you doing there, if you weren't dancing?" Alistair asked. "Unless I don't want to know?"

She shrugged. "One of the girl's fathers needed to be seduced. We figured it was the best time to try."

"Yeah, really didn't want to know that."

Eruestan smirked, then grabbed Rowena's arm. "Everyone, look! Rolfdir's coming back!"

"Forgive me, Wardens," the dwarf panted. "His Lordship will be with you in a few moments. In the meantime, might I interest you in a view of the Diamond Gardens? It's the finest collection of cut stones in all of Thedas."

Suddenly, there was a tense rustling from the front of the crowd; somewhere inside the palace, a woman was wailing. Cormac drew back his lips and snarled. "What's going on?" Rowena asked sharply.

The doors to the palace opened; a young man ran out. "The King is dead!" he yelled. "Long live King Pyral!"

A series of gasps rippled through the crowd. "Lord Harrowmont doesn't deserve the crown!" the noblewoman in front of them yelled. "It belongs to Prince Bhelen!"

The doors were opening again; two men came out, followed by a large group of dwarves. "These aren't surface politics!" a dignified man with a beard was yelling. "The king nominates a successor, and the Assembly votes on it! Your blood means nothing!"

"And who's to say who my father nominated?" the younger man with him yelled back. "You were alone with him on his deathbed; he could have said anything!"

Two groups were forming as if by instinct; the Wardens stood in the middle at the back, feeling rather out of place. "What sort of powergrabber is Harrowmont?" someone yelled. "House Aeducan has ruled Orzammar for centuries!"

"And King Endrin didn't even trust his own son!" someone else yelled. "Harrowmont has managed the city for years, he knows what to do!"

"You'll pay for this, Harrowmont!" Prince Bhelen yelled. "By the Stone, I'll—"

"Deshyrs, please!" a man said, stepping between the two groups. "This decision belongs with the Assembly; stop this squabbling and let us mourn the king!"

A man in full armor stepped out from behind Prince Bhelen. "How dare you interrupt the King?" he bellowed.

It was over before Eruestan was fully aware what was happening. The armored man pulled out a war axe and slammed it into the other dwarf's neck, sending a fountain of blood spraying into the air. The other nobles shrieked and dispersed; Harrowmont's men encircled him, weapons drawn. The two rivals glared at each other; then, the prince motioned to his followers and retreated back into the palace.

The Wardens stood with their jaws dropped. "Uh…Lord Harrowmont?" Eruestan asked.

The dwarf glanced up at them, drawing a handkerchief out of his pocket. "Ah, Grey Wardens," he said, wiping the blood off his face. "Welcome to Orzammar."

* * *

_Thanks for all the lovely support! Feel free to review!_


	31. Never Do Business with Dwarves

"Is there any part of the world that isn't falling to pieces?" Alistair asked, staring wide-eyed at the pool of blood seeping onto the stone floor.

"What the hell was that about?" Rowena gasped, walking forward. "Did he really just kill that man?"

"Standard practice, really," Lord Harrowmont said, pocketing his kerchief. "We like to call it the 'Orzammar Veto'."

"You're acting awfully blasé about this," Wynne said, bending over the dead man. "You were almost killed!"

He shrugged. "You don't last long in Orzammar, getting excited about things like that. But no matter; I understand you've come here with treaties for support?"

Rowena nodded as she pulled them out. "They promise the King of Orzammar's aid in the event of a Blight."

"I'm sure they do, my lady," Harrowmont said. "Unfortunately, it might be a while before there is a King of Orzammar to lend you that support."

"How long is a while?" Eruestan asked, frowning.

Harrowmont sighed. "Follow me, Wardens. We can discuss this at my estate."

His Lordship led them to an equally large building right next to the royal palace.

Eruestan stared at it. "You've got to be kidding me."

Harrowmont grunted. "My estate may not be as grand as the royal palace, but I don't think eight scruffy travelers and a flea-bitten dog have room to complain."

"Hey!" Rowena said, ruffling Cormac's head. "And that's not what he meant! You live next door to the man who tried to kill you!"

"Ah." He shrugged. "All my neighbors have tried to kill me. Follow me, please."

The group walked through the front doors into a large vestibule filled with servants. The ceiling was tall, which surprised Eruestan; glowing crystals dangled from the ceiling and giant carved murals decorated the walls. Music was gently wafting through the air, though he couldn't tell where it was coming from. The servants all bowed before them, eyes narrowing slightly as the Wardens walked past.

Harrowmont led them down a hallway and into his office, a spacious room with a lofty ceiling. "So, Wardens, let's discuss these treaties," Harrowmont said, sitting behind his desk. "What exactly are its terms?"

Rowena laid the treaties on the desk. "Everything's laid out pretty clearly; Orzammar is obligated to lend its full support to the Wardens in the war effort against the Blight."

"Full support?" The dwarf shook his head. "No, no, we can't afford that."

She raised an eyebrow. "Using the men for a different Blight?"

He glared at her. "Orzammar is always in the middle of a Blight; the darkspawn pour out of the Deep Roads, you know. We can't spare the manpower."

"I think you can manage it somehow," Eruestan said. "Unless you want your men fighting the horde in the streets of the city?"

He conceded the point. "All the same, we can only devote 60% of our forces."

Leliana shook her head. "90%."

He leaned forward. "70%."

"85%."

"80%."

Leliana jumped forward and grabbed his head. "Sounds wonderful," she said, shaking it vigorously. "Lovely doing business with you."

"Get it in writing," Wynne said, already jotting down the deal on a piece of parchment. "And once he signs, we'll need to take this to the Shaperate – they'll make sure it's respected."

"The Shaperate?" Eruestan asked.

"It records all events and transactions in Orzammar," she said, finishing with a flourish. "Once something's registered there, there's no way to get around it."

Harrowmont sighed and pulled out a quill. "I see you've done business with us before."

Wynne nodded, sliding the parchment over. "I was with the last lyrium commission for the Fereldan Chantry."

"Ah," he said, signing the paper, "so you were part of the group that screwed us out of the best lyrium harvest we've had in decades."

"We negotiated that deal for weeks with Lord Gardor!"

"Which is why House Gardor has been removed from the Assembly and stripped of its noble status." Harrowmont finished signing and sent it across the desk. "There you are – signed cooperation from the King of Orzammar."

Eruestan was stunned it had been that easy. "Fantastic! When can we expect your armies to join us?"

"The instant you help me get elected king."

There was silence in the room. "Never do business with a dwarf," Wynne sighed.

"What do you mean, get you elected king?" Rowena asked. "How exactly are we supposed to go about doing that?"

"Easy," he replied. "The Grey Wardens carry a lot of weight, even among the Dwarva. If you declare yourselves for me, I'd be that much closer to the throne."

"All the same, I think you're grossly overestimating our knowledge of dwarven politics," Alistair said. "As well as grossly underestimating my ability to accidentally offend people."

"So keep quiet and let the others do the talking." The dwarf pointed to the treaty. "That document can only be utilized by the King in Orzammar; wait for the Assembly to decide, and you'll be here long after the Blight wipes Ferelden off the earth. Help me to the crown, and you'll already have a Shaperate-approved agreement with the monarchy."

"But we don't know anything about how things work here!" Eruestan said. "How are we supposed to help you?"

"With the right direction, quite easily. Take tonight, for example: there'll be a reception to mourn King Endrin, and all the city's nobility will be there. If they see any of my men, they'll turn as quiet as the stone. They see you, however…well, with enough ale in their bellies, who knows what they'll spill?"

"Will we even be welcome at this reception?" Leliana asked. "I get the impression that surfacers aren't viewed in the best light here."

Harrowmont waved his hand. "Trivial – dignitaries of your status will be welcome wherever you choose. Besides, as my personal guests you'll be treated better than almost anyone else there."

"Is that an invitation?" Eruestan asked, smiling.

"Of course it's an invitation," the dwarf replied. "In the meantime, your guide will show you to the Warden House in the Diamond Quarter; you'll have a few hours before the event starts."

The group stood up. "Thank you, Your Lordship," Rowena said, nodding her head. "Your generosity is greatly appreciated."

"Don't call it generosity." Harrowmont leaned back in his chair. "Disappoint me, Wardens, and you'll live to regret it."

Rowena frowned slightly and walked out of the room. Dwarves were certainly blunt.

Rolfdir was waiting for them in the lobby. "The Warden House is not far from here," he said. "Do keep an eye on the streets; the city may prove dangerous at the moment."

"Is there anywhere left in the world that wouldn't?" Alistair asked. There was a pause. "That wasn't a rhetorical question."

"I hear Par Vollen's really lovely," Leliana said. "Is that true, Sten?"

He snorted. "None of you would last more than five minutes in Par Vollen."

Roldir seemed to be ignoring them. "During your stay here, you'll each have your own personal chambers," he said, walking up to a nice townhouse with a good view of the city. "You will also have the servants that accompany them. Feel free to request anything from the kitchens; I would recommend seared nug with a mushroom sauce."

"Nugs?" Leliana looked horrified. "You mean you _eat_ the bunny-pigs? That's horrible!"

"They are quite disgusting creatures, that is true; fortunately, they do cook very well, and you can always ask to have the hands cut off." He led them inside; the foyer was much smaller than Harrowmont's, but still very beautiful. A large staircase led to a second floor. "The chambers are upstairs; each has a bathtub and other facilities."

Rowena, Alistair, and Leliana shivered in anticipation. "_Baths_."

A pretty serving girl walked past. "Tell me, good fellow," Zevran asked, eyeing her. "What is the guest policy here?"

"You may invite whomever you wish," Rolfdir replied. "Though I trust you will not do anything to tarnish the name of either the Wardens or the Dwarva."

Zevran was now making eyes at two burly serving men. "I will be the soul of discretion, my friend."

Eruestan was not amused. "Thank you, Rolfdir. I think we'd like to relax for a while now."

"Of course." He clapped his hands. "_Vyeshchi_!" A small army of servants appeared at the top of the stairs. "Prepare baths for our guests, they reek of old cheese."

"Hey, that's…actually kind of fair," Alistair said, sniffing himself; the servants bowed and entered the rooms. "Put a lot of soap in that, please!"

Rolfdir bowed. "Wardens, I take my leave of you. A courier will come for you when the reception begins. Until then, enjoy your rooms." He turned around abruptly and walked away.

Alistair went into a small living room threw himself onto a couch; Cormac jumped up next to him. "So this place is crazy."

"Violence has always been a part of dwarven politics," Wynne said. "I never understood why; enough things are trying to kill them as it is."

"But what do we think of Harrowmont?" Eruestan asked. "Do you think he'd be a good ally?"

Rowena sat down next to Cormac and scratched his head. "He's a bit…_blunt_. I'm not used to that behavior among nobles."

"I think all dwarves must be like that," Leliana said. "Can you believe that they eat those bunny-pigs? It's abominable!"

"I agree," Alistair said. "Wynne's right, did you see that their legs end in hands? Creepy."

"That's not what I meant, Alistair! They're adorable!"

Rowena shook her head. "Everyone, let's focus—"

"Thank you, Rowena," Zevran said. "Has no one else noticed how remarkably attractive our dwarven friends are?"

Eruestan stopped smirking. "That's not what she meant," he said. "Should we work with Harrowmont?"

"He's a competent administrator," Wynne said. "I had a few interactions with him during the last lyrium deal; he's trustworthy, at least so long as you follow Orzammar's rules."

"And he seems marginally saner than his rival," Morrigan said. "At the very least, we have yet to see him kill his own enemies in cold blood."

"Give him a week," Wynne sighed. "Though that's true, he does seem to be slightly more level-headed than the prince's associates."

"But would he be a better ally?" Alistair asked, letting Cormac lick his face. "Yeah, that Prince Baylott might seem crazy, but this place is like Crazy City, you know? Maybe they need someone loony."

"It's 'Bhelen'," Leliana said. "And I think Alistair's right, at least to some extent. It doesn't matter who's saner; what's important is who has more support in the city."

"It seemed like a toss-up out in the crowd," Rowena said. "Who do we support in that case?"

"The most capable," Sten said.

"The most popular," Leliana said.

"The most attractive," Zevran said.

"The best singer!" Alistair said. Everyone turned to stare at him. "Er…sorry. I thought we were just saying things."

Eruestan sighed. "Whomever we end up siding with, we won't make our decision now. Let's just get ready for this reception and see what we think at the end of the night."

"That sounds like a great idea," Rowena said, leaping off the couch. "If you'll excuse me, there's a bathtub upstairs that's been calling my name."

Zevran was right behind Eruestan. "Shall we place bets on who can seduce a dwarf first, my friend? I have no doubt that you would be a worthy competitor…"

Eruestan was wounded; he shot him a dark look. Zevran looked taken aback; not bothering to say anything, Eruestan walked away up the stairs. He suddenly wanted some time alone.

* * *

The bathtub in his chamber was large and smooth, carved from marble and filled with steaming hot water. It was incredibly luxurious; Eruestan, however, was having trouble relaxing.

"Are you sure you don't want us to help bathe you, Your Excellency?" Gorran, his male servant asked.

"We are also skilled masseuses, if that would please you, Your Excellency," his female companion Pemma said from his side.

Eruestan blushed and curled up tighter in the bathtub, shielding his body from view. "I'm fine," he said. "In fact, I'd like to get out now."

"Of course." The two held up a thick robe; he sprang up and wrapped himself in it, shying away from them. "Is there anything else you need, Your Excellency?" Pemma asked.

"Anything else at all?" Gorran repeated, placing a hand on the elf's waist.

The servants' eyes did not quite match the tones of their voices; Eruestan felt a little queasy. "No, that will be all," he said, stepping away from them. "I can dress myself, thank you."

They bowed. "There are clothes for you in the wardrobe, Your Excellency; let us know if there is anything else we can do."

"Thank you." He waited until they left the room, then shuddered. Orzammar really was Crazy City.

The wardrobe was filled with the same flashy clothing the other dwarves wore, somehow already tailored to his size. He pulled out a dark-blue silk tunic with a silver breastplate and matching blue trousers. The fabric felt smooth against his body, while the weight of the breastplate gave him an added sense of security. He imagined that was hard to come by in Orzammar. Throwing his bag on the bed, he opened it and picked up the belt he had bought at the market. He hoped Zevran would like it.

Someone knocked on his door. "Can I come in?" Alistair asked from the other side.

Eruestan threw the belt down and opened the door. "Hurry, before my servants start thinking I'm summoning them."

"Maker, did it happen to you too?" Alistair shook his head as he sat down on Eruestan's bed. "Mine practically accosted me; how much you want to bet that Zevran's already had a foursome?"

For reasons he couldn't explain, Eruestan bristled at this statement. "These servants don't have any choice, Alistair; Zev would never take advantage of someone like that."

Alistair threw up his hands. "Hey, hey, don't jump down my throat, I'm only making a tasteless joke at your boyfriend's expense."

Eruestan rolled his eyes. "Oh, not you, too."

"I'm only saying what everyone else is thinking – and hey, be proud! He's an attractive man."

Eruestan smiled. "Don't tell me I'm going to have to start competing for him with you, now."

"You're hilarious," Alistair said. "But actually, that's kind of what I want to talk with you about."

He was stunned. "Oh! Uh, Alistair, I…I didn't know you felt like that…"

"I don't!" he said hastily. "I mean, not like I think it's wrong or anything – not like anyone _would_, you know – and it's not like it's something that's even able to be wrong – oh, for Maker's sake, you know I'm with Rowena!"

"But you _want_ to be with Zevran?"

"No, that's not what I'm – you're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

"Maybe just a little," Eruestan said, grinning. "But what do you want to talk about?"

Alistair had turned scarlet. "I was actually wondering if Rowena…had ever told you what she'd…like…"

Eruestan frowned. "Like, as a present? Because she did say that she needed a new scabbard."

"That's not what I meant…though that's actually a good idea, thank you…" He coughed, blushing even further. "I was really talking about…other things…"

"Oh." It took Eruestan a second to process. "_Oh_!" Now it was his turn to blush furiously. "Alistair!"

"Not so loud!" Alistair hissed. "Everyone will hear you!"

"Maker's breath, you're asking me what Rowena likes in bed?" The knight somehow managed to turn even redder. "Honestly, Alistair, if you can't even hear the words 'in bed'…"

"I can!" he said. "I just don't have a lot of experience in this stuff!"

"What makes you think I'd know?"

"I don't know! You're always talking to each other!"

"Yes, but about the Blight! Or our troubled pasts!"

"Well, I didn't know that!" He ran a hand through his hair. "I mean, would you be able to guess?"

"No! Ask someone else!"

"I did!" he said. "Leliana got teary-eyed and gave me way too much information to process, Zevran offered to demonstrate his techniques on me, and Wynne spent fifteen minutes giving me a stern lecture about where babies comes from."

"You didn't know that before?"

"Of course I did!"

"Well, good." Eruestan paused. "You could ask Morrigan?"

They looked at each other for a moment, then burst into laughter. "Maker, she'd castrate me first," Alistair laughed, wiping a tear from his eye. "Thank you, I needed that."

"Any time." They sat in silence for a moment, chuckling. "So," Eruestan said, a little awkward, "have you…?"

"Have I what?"

Eruestan narrowed his eyes. "Don't be cute."

"No, what are you talking about? Have I ever what?"

"Alistair…"

"Have I ever…been to Orlais? Have I ever tried on a hat? Have I ever licked a lamppost in winter?"

"I'll tell you what you can do to a lamppost—"

"Charming," Alistair said. "And for your information, no, I haven't; Templar initiates are actively encouraged to stay away from lampposts, in fact. What about you?"

He shook his head. "Not really, at least. Someone took me out into a hallway once during a party – it was very awkward and we ended up getting interrupted."

Alistair grimaced. "Why do I feel like that's going to happen to me?"

Someone else knocked at the door. "Oh, there you are!" Rowena said, walking in with Cormac at her side. She was wearing a light green dress decorated with gold filigree and chainmail. Her hair was out of its ponytail and down her back, two small braids woven in an intricate design on the sides of her head. She looked beautiful; Eruestan noticed with a small smile that Alistair's jaw had dropped. "What are you two talking about?"

Alistair shot up from the bed. "Rocks!" he said, his voice cracking. "And lava! And other…dwarvy…things!" Eruestan and Rowena stared at him in alarm. "I...I have to go!" He raced out of the room, making Cormac whine softly.

Rowena turned around. "Has he been possessed?"

"Only by his hormones," Eruestan sighed. "He was asking how to…er…_please_ you."

She paused. "Well, I mean, he could go buy me a new scabbard…"

"That's not what I meant."

"What do you…_oh_!" She sat down abruptly. "Well, what makes him think you'd know about that?"

"It's Alistair," Eruestan said. "You should count yourself lucky he didn't go ask Sten."

"He should be asking me!" she said. "Maker's breath, we haven't had any time to ourselves since Redcliffe, if he wants to sleep with me he should just ask!"

"Good luck with that; he could hardly talk about it with me." Eruestan paused. "You haven't…licked a lamppost, have you?"

"Licked a what?"

"Forget that," he said quickly. "What I mean to say is, have you ever…you know…"

"Slept with anyone?" He nodded. "No," she said, "I've never really had the opportunity. That doesn't mean I'm afraid of it; or talking about it, for that matter."

"You're not afraid of anything," Eruestan said. "I, however, am very afraid. Zevran's so...experienced…"

She grinned. "First off, I'm glad we're finally admitting you have a thing for Zevran, and second off, who cares! You'll never get experience with that attitude, and I doubt Zevran will mind." She paused. "No, actually, I'm _sure_ Zevran won't mind."

He grinned. "You know, there are times when I wish I was more like you."

"Everyone should be more like me." There was a pause. "But seriously, licking a lamppost?"

Someone coughed from the doorway. "Your Excellencies?" a dwarf asked, bowing from the doorway. "The reception will be beginning shortly."

"Already?" Rowena asked in surprise. "Maker, time flies when you're well-bathed."

"But anyways, what do you think I should do about it?" Eruestan murmured, smiling uneasily at the servant as they walked past him. "Should I say anything to him?"

"Just be blunt with him," she suggested. "He certainly is with everyone else."

The others were pouring into the landing. "Oh, Morrigan, you look lovely!" Leliana cooed; she wore a pink silk dress and had her hair piled on top of her head. "We should have gowns made for you while you're here!"

The witch had exchanged her normal ragged clothing for a slim deep blue dress and wore her long black hair down for the first time Eruestan had seen it. "They forced me to change," she said coldly. "This will not become a habit." Eruestan noticed she was still wearing the gold necklace he had seen earlier, slightly undermining her supposed lack of interest.

"They even found something for you, Sten?" Rowena asked, looking at his green clothes. "I can't imagine the last time a Qunari came down here."

"I pity him."

"If you'd kindly follow me," the dwarf said, glaring slightly at Sten. He led them down the stairs to the main hallway, where Harrowmont and his entourage were waiting for them.

"Wardens," he said. "I trust you're well-rested."

"Of course," Rowena said, curtseying. "Our quarters are lovely, Your Lordship, we were highly—"

"Come along, then, the Stone isn't getting any younger." Harrowmont had already turned around and begun leading his party out the doors.

"If he were in Orlais," Leliana whispered, eyes narrowed, "he'd be locked in a stock and children would be throwing rotten fruit at him."

"Let's get to Orlais as soon as possible, then," Rowena said through gritted teeth. "I wonder where this reception is going to be."

"Hopefully as far away from that Prince Bayonet as possible," Alistair muttered.

Harrowmont led them out the door and into the entrance of the royal palace.

"I hate this city," Alistair said as they followed him through.

"This may be a blessing in disguise," Leliana said; the lobby was of a similar layout to Lord Harrowmont's, only slightly grander and taller. The crowd was thick, everyone trying to get through a large archway. "With both rivals present, people are likely to be far more willing to gossip to each other."

"How do we get them to gossip to us, though?" Eruestan asked.

"I have a plan for that," she replied. "We should split into three groups; since Wynne, Rowena, and I are the only ones with any knowledge of the dwarves or nobles, we should be the leaders."

"I'll take Alistair," Rowena said quickly; she and Eruestan exchanged a look.

"And I'll take Eruestan and Morrigan," Wynne said, smiling; she looked stunning in her red gown. "I think it'll be nice to bond together as mages."

Leliana looked less than thrilled. "And that leaves me with Sten and Zevran."

"Do not sound so enthusiastic, my friend, else you will lead me on," Zevran said drily. "By the by, I may spend more time ogling the guests than searching for information." He winked at a passing noble couple, who flushed and hurried forward.

"Zev, we need you to pay attention," Eruestan snapped, again annoyed for no real reason. The assassin looked very handsome in red, too. "This isn't the time for jokes."

The assassin raised an eyebrow. "As you wish, Eruestan."

"Very well, then," Leliana said. "Good luck, everyone."

Rowena couldn't deny that it was a lovely room. The reception hall was huge, filled with chatting nobles and small tables covered in food and drink. As she was a good two feet taller than everyone else there, she could easily the bier in the center of the room, where the former king's body lay out for all to view. She shuddered slightly at the sight; funerals gave her the creeps.

Harrowmont led them through the room, stopping next to the king's bier. "Prince Bhelen," he said, nodding at the young man standing next to the platform; his murderous companion stood next to him. "How nice to see you again."

The prince scowled. "Lord Harrowmont – come to leech off my father's spotlight, I presume?"

"What need have I for that, Your Highness?" Harrowmont gestured to the party. "Have you met my guests, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden?"

Bhelen's scowl deepened, though he did bow to them. "Wardens," he said, "it is an honor. Tell me, how in the Stone did you manage to associate yourselves with scum like Harrowmont here?"

Again, Rowena was taken aback by his bluntness; Harrowmont, however, rolled his eyes and said, "Wardens, I'll leave you to it. The air here has gotten thick with idiocy." He left, leading his own party to the side of the room.

The Wardens were left alone awkwardly with the prince. Rowena glanced at Leliana and curtseyed. "Your Highness," she said, head bowed. "I am so sorry for your loss."

"Oh, no one's going to miss him," Bhelen said, waving her off. "Tell me seriously, though, what could have possessed you to join forces with that traitor? Do you really think he's a better choice?"

"Honestly? He approached us first."

"Alistair!" Leliana hissed. "We are but guests in Orzammar, Your Highness. We shall support whoever can help up in the Blight."

"You'll be here for a while, then," the prince said. "Enjoy the night – come speak to me if you want a second opinion."

The prince and his entourage left to the other side of the room; the Wardens turned to face the crowd. "Alistair and I will go by that statue," Rowena said. "There seems to be a lot of people there."

"Good idea," Leliana said. "I'll send someone over if we need you."

The two of them made their way through the room, ignoring the hostile looks the other attendees were giving them. "Sweet Andraste, I'm glad to be away from that bier," Rowena confessed. "I hate seeing dead bodies."

"You hate seeing dead bodies? I've seen you kill more than anyone else I've ever met!"

She smiled at him. "I'm a highly intriguing woman."

"There's no denying that." He flushed under her gaze.

She felt a little fuzzy inside, too. "So, who should we start talking to?"

Alistair looked around the crowd. "How about the old man over there?"

Rowena glanced where he had gestured and shook her head. "Reminds me of my old tutor – what about that lady next to us?"

"Seems easy enough." They walked over to her; she was a well-dressed dwarf whose hair was piled precariously on top of her head. She was talking animatedly to her friends in Dwarven; as they approached, the group fell silent.

"My lady," Rowena said, curtseying; beside her, Alistair took a bow. "I don't believe we've met; I'm Lady Rowena of House Cousland, and this is my fellow Grey Warden, Alistair."

"A pleasure," the lady said, curtsying as well. "I'm Lady Dace; you're very welcome in Orzammar."

"Thank you," Rowena said, grabbing two cups of ale and handing one to Alistair. "A very sad occasion, unfortunately."

The lady shrugged. "Kings come and kings go; what's important now is who comes next."

"And who do you think that will be?" Alistair asked, sniffing his drink.

Lady Dace smiled at them, an expression that looked strange on her face. "I'm not usually one to say, but…" She looked around and took a large swig of ale. "It's no secret that Prince Bhelen has promised House Dace the Gardor estate; good things will happen to us if an Aeducan stays on the throne."

"It's a big estate, then?"

"Huge," she said, taking another drink of ale. "Gardor was an idiot, throwing away lyrium like he did. Oh well – no use weeping over split Stone, after all."

"Very true," Rowena said. "It was nice to speak with you, Lady Dace."

They bowed and moved to the other side of the statue. "That was surprisingly easy," Alistair said. "Do you think everyone's going to want to spill their secrets to us?"

"Something tells me that was the ale speaking," Rowena said. "I'll take it, though."

"Maker, I hate these things," Alistair said. "All the small talk and the manners and the potential of getting stabbed – I'll be lucky if I make it out of here alive."

"I'll keep you safe." She winked at him. "You know, if you want to get out of here early…"

"Yeah?" His cheeks flushed, but he seemed eager. "Do you have an escape route in mind?"

She glanced around. "You know, no one's really paying us any attention…we could just—"

"Grey Wardens!" They turned around to see Lady Dace approaching at the head of a large group of nobles. She slurred something in Dwarven to the others. "I just wanted to introduce you to a few acquaintances," she hiccupped. "Everyone, these are my dear friends, the Grey Wardens!"

Rowena scowled to herself as she curtsied. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Meanwhile, Eruestan was busy being completely ignored by the majority of the dwarven nobility. "Are we doing something wrong?" he asked, looking at the crowd.

"We're not dwarves," Wynne said. "Wait until they get drunk enough to want to talk to us again."

A group of nobles passed by, eyeing them suspiciously and muttering to each other in Dwarven. "That's another thing I don't understand," Eruestan said. "Have you noticed that everyone here speaks Fereldan until they notice we're in earshot?"

"It's a sign of status," Wynne said. "Everyone in the merchant caste and higher is expected to speak Fereldan and Orlesian perfectly, it'd be embarrassing not to; still, they'd rather go Topside than try to communicate with us."

"What strange people," Morrigan said. "And I thought humans were difficult."

"It's all a matter of different manners. People are particularly hostile now, though, because the king's dead. Nothing makes people more tense than a succession crisis."

"Just like on the surface," Eruestan murmured.

She nodded. "Though it's different here. We humans love the idea of a dynasty – the monarch of Ferelden in particular draws a lot of power from the fact that he or she descends from King Calenhad. In Orzammar, however, every noble house is descended from a Paragon, so it's the Assembly that appoints the new king or queen. It's true the House Aeducan has held the throne for generations, however; that sort of stability may prove appealing when the time comes to vote." All of a sudden, she went pale and stumbled; Eruestan grabbed her before she fell to the ground.

"Wynne!" he gasped. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, eyes closed. "Just…a little dizzy…I'm fine…" She stood up again, color returning to her face. "It's…stuffy in this room, that's all." Eruestan glanced at Morrigan; the witch's eyes were narrowed slightly, examining Wynne's face with a little too much scrutiny for comfort.

There was a disturbance in the crowd; they looked over to see Sten blazing a trail through the nobles, Leliana following close behind. "It's a nice party, isn't it?" she asked, coming up to them. "Have you tried the mushrooms? They're divine."

"I haven't," Eruestan said. "Heard anything?"

She shook her head. "Nothing too important. We met someone named Lord Helmi who told us that the prince had promised his house the old Gardor estate in exchange for his support; beyond that, most people have been ignoring us."

"Same here," he replied. "Where's Zevran? Is he finding food?"

Sten grunted. "Not exactly."

Eruestan didn't understand. "What do you mean?"

Leliana shot Sten a look. "Zevran has made…some friends."

"Miracles do happen, it seems."

"What sort of friends?" Eruestan asked, ignoring Morrigan.

The bard sighed. "He decided to take someone home with him." She hesitated. "Five someones, in fact."

"Oh." His chest felt tight. "Right. Of course."

Wynne and Leliana exchanged glances. "You know, it's a terrible party, actually," Leliana said. "No music at all – and now that I think about it, those mushrooms were a little soggy. We should just go home."

"No!" he said sharply; there was nowhere he wanted to be less. "I'm hungry; who wants something? Wynne? Do you need anything?"

"I'm fine," she said gently. "Are you sure you want to go alone?"

He nodded, blinking heavily. "I'll be back soon."

He made his way to the nearest drink table. Dwarves were murmuring gently to each other; Eruestan paid no attention to them. He had been stupid; what had he expected? That Zevran was devoted to him? The assassin had never made him any promises, never pretended that there was anything special between them. He had treated him the same as everyone else, and Eruestan had been the idiot who fell for it. He should have seen it sooner – he had been the only person to play along with Zevran, and that was the only reason he'd gotten any attention. It was stupid, completely stupid. Lost in thought, he grabbed a flagon of ale from the table and took a drink.

The liquor burned in his mouth; shocked, he spat it out without thinking, spraying the man in front of him with his spittle.

"_Blyad'_!" Too late, Eruestan realized in horror that the man he had sprayed was Prince Bhelen's murderous companion. "_Chyo za galima? Kto etot mudak?_"

Despite not speaking a word of Dwarven, it was very clear that Eruestan had made a major misstep. "I'm so sorry, let me—"

The dwarf snarled. "You messed with the wrong man, Topsider." He drew his battleaxe; the crowd around them gasped in horror and took a step back. Eruestan glared at him for a moment and summoned a ball of lightning. Now was not the time to mess with him.

Before either could act, however, someone stepped between them. "Hadar, lower your axe," Prince Bhelen yawned. "You look like an idiot."

Hadar immediately dropped his weapon and bowed. "Of course, my prince."

"You'll have to forgive my friend, Warden," the prince said, turning to Eruestan, who ended his spell. "He can be a little sensitive."

"I can see that," Eruestan said coldly. "Does he normally attack guests in the palace?"

"Only when encouraged." The prince gestured to a back corner. "Come, have a drink with me; we have a lot to talk about."

Eruestan hesitated; he knew he wasn't in the best mental state, and he would have liked Rowena and the others to be there. But everyone else seemed absorbed in whom they were talking to, and he knew that they needed to speak with Bhelen. With a slight nod, he followed the prince, trying to push all thoughts of Zevran from his mind.

The prince led him to the back and nodded to two servants, who pulled back a curtain that revealed a small room lined with couches. Hadar threw his axe onto a table and flung himself onto a couch. "_Vyeshchi_!" he yelled. "_Khachu piva_!"

"Manners, Hadar, manners." Bhelen glanced back at the servants. "Though some ale would be nice, thank you. Warden, will you take anything?"

Eruestan shook his head. "I don't think I have the tolerance for dwarven ale."

"It's an acquired taste," the prince said. "Spend enough time in Orzammar, and you'll be drinking like Hadar here."

"I'd like to see the nugfucker try," Hadar said, grabbing the tankard offered him and downing it in one gulp.

"Our plan is to be out of Orzammar before anyone has time for that," Eruestan said. "The Blight is coming, Your Highness, and we need Orzammar's full support if we're to confront it."

"Ah, yes, your treaties – and thank you, Karina," he said, taking a tankard of ale. "Is that how much Harrowmont's promised you? All our men?"

"No, he promised us…" Eruestan suddenly realized it might not be smart to give the true amount. "90%. He promised 90% of Orzammar's forces."

"Then let me make this easy for you." Bhelen set his tankard on the table; Hadar leaned forward and grabbed it. "Hadar, you're a bronto; and Warden, I promise you all of Orzammar's armies if you help me secure the throne."

"All?" Eruestan asked. "You'd give us all your armies?"

"So surface ears are as good as they say they are." The prince raised an eyebrow. "Well? What do you say?"

Eruestan paused for a moment. "Can I get this in writing?"

Before Bhelen could respond, Hadar began coughing violently, so loud that they couldn't continue their conversation. "Hadar!" the prince snapped. "Calm yourself!"

"_Ya nye…nye magu…_" Hadar started clutching his throat; Eruestan realized that he wasn't coughing, he was choking. "_Knyazh…moy knyazh…_"

"Somebody help him!" Eruestan cried, jumping to his feet. The servants pulled the curtains back and stared, jaws dropped at the man writing on the floor. "He's dying!"

The servants glanced at each other and ran into the room. "_Zashchishchayte knyazha!_" they yelled, grabbing Prince Bhelen; frantically looking for assassins, they escorted him out of the room and into the safer parts of the palace. Hadar was left writhing on the ground, his face turning blue.

Eruestan knelt by his body, watching in horror as the man's life ended in front of him. Nobles were peering through the curtains now; as they saw what was happening, they began to scream to each other in Dwarven. "I don't know how to help him!" Eruestan cried. "Somebody help!"

But no one did. As the nobles gathered, shrieking and whispering witticisms to each other, Hadar choked to death on the palace floor, eyes locked with Eruestan as he rejoined the Stone.

* * *

_Thanks to everyone for the support (especially the fantastic mille libri!) Feel free to review or follow! _


	32. Proving One's Worth

_The Taint was oozing through Orzammar, flooding the streets and turning the air black. A deep roar echoed through the city and shook the cavern walls; something was emerging from the pool of lava below. Rowena tried to move, to run away from the roars, but she could not – her legs had turned to stone. The Taint rose up like a wave, ready to crash down on her; she closed her eyes, just as something howled free in the city of the city…_

"And then he just…died," Eruestan was saying; Rowena started and tried to focus. "The prince's servants ran Bhelen back into the palace and left him to choke to death in front of me."

She toyed with a piece of dried meat, secretly wishing the chandelier above them wasn't so bright. Beside her Cormac whined and lay his head on her lap; she largely felt the same way. Her dreams had been particularly terrible the night before; judging by the way Eruestan and Alistair looked, it was the same for them, too. Alistair caught her eye and winked; she smiled and winked back. They _needed _to find some time alone together, preferably not after a political assassination.

But there was time to think about that later. "What did Bhelen tell you again?"

"That if we help him to the throne, he'll pledge all of Orzammar's forces to our cause," Eruestan said, picking up some water. "He seemed pretty earnest; I didn't get anything in writing, though."

"Which should give us pause," Wynne said. "We know Prince Bhelen's promised both House Dace and House Helmi the Gardor estate; he obviously can't be trusted."

"But if we press him on it, we might get a similar agreement to the one Harrowmont gave us," Rowena replied. "It'd be 20% more manpower."

"I wouldn't rely on it," Leliana said, piling fruit onto a plate. "He won't want to make promises he has to keep; if we need to force him to make a deal with us, we should find something to blackmail him with."

"Well, he can't be happy that we know about Lady Dace and Lord Helmi," Alistair yawned. "Wouldn't that be enough?"

Leliana shrugged. "He doesn't seem like an idiot; if he made the deals, he's probably done something clever to wiggle his way out of them. We should keep our ears open for more information."

There was a noise out in the hallway; four dwarves were leaving the house, disheveled and giggling to themselves. They walked past the dining room while staring at the Wardens, whispering furiously in Dwarven.

Morrigan sighed. "Well, 'twould appear that someone's kept his legs open, at least."

Rowena furrowed her eyebrows; a moment later, Zevran strolled into the room, grinning broadly. "Good morning, my friends! I hope you slept well; I myself did not sleep a wink."

She winced and glanced at Eruestan; he caught her looking at him and flushed slightly. "Hello, Zevran," he said. "You should sit down; I think your breakfast is going to be cold."

He shrugged. "But who could worry about cold food on a morning like this? The people here are incredible, they have this trick with a feather that will just—"

"That's enough, Zevran." Eruestan's jaw was clenched; Rowena flushed and looked down at her plate. "You've wasted enough time as it is."

Zevran gave him a long stare. "You are annoyed with me?"

At this point everyone else had fallen silent, too. "As a matter of fact, yes," Eruestan replied. "You had no permission to leave when you did last night."

"But we don't need to talk about that now," Rowena said hastily. "Zevran, here, have some bread—"

He shook his head. "It's fine, Rowena; if Eruestan has something to say, I would rather hear it." He turned back to the mage. "I did not realize I needed your permission to come or go."

"You did," Eruestan snapped. "You always do. Last night was a dangerous event and we needed everyone there; Andraste's ass, there was even an assassination! That's what you're supposed to specialize in! We asked you to join us because you're supposed to help us; if you're just going to be a flippant wisecracker, you might as well leave."

Zevran's face was unreadable. "I see."

"Good." The table was thick with tension, the two elves glaring at each other. Then someone coughed from the other end of the room.

"Good morning, Your Excellencies," Rolfdir said, bowing to them. "I trust you slept well?"

"We did, thank you," Rowena said, still flushing. "Our quarters are wonderful."

"I'm pleased you like them." Rolfdir pulled out a piece of parchment. "I come bearing invitations for you; your presence has been requested at the Assembly today."

Eruestan turned away from Zevran. "Who's invited us?"

"All the deshyrs of the Assembly, Lord Harrowmont and Prince Bhelen included. You can observe from the guest's gallery."

"How long will it take?" Rowena asked. "Will we be able to address the Assembly?"

Rolfdir frowned. "Certainly not. In any case, the proceedings will be in Dwarven, as is tradition in the Assembly. I will translate for you, of course." He paused. "It may behoove you to dress practically; meetings of the Assembly can be…dangerous…"

"You don't say," Eruestan said drily. "Thank you for the message, though, Rolfdir; when should we arrive by?"

The dwarf pointed to a clock above the fireplace. "You should go in about an hour; that'll give you more than enough time to make a good impression."

"All right," Rowena said. "And would we be able to leave early? I just don't want to be…er…uh, never mind," she said, noticing the look of abject horror on his face. "We'll…we'll stay…"

"Good," Rolfdir said, color returning to his face. "It took us four days to clean up the blood the last time someone tried to leave an Assembly session early. I will be back in an hour to collect you."

"Thank you, Rolfdir." They waited until he left the room. "This is going to be _so_ boring!" Rowena cried. "All they're going to want to do is talk about sewage treatment and livery changes!"

"Their king is dead, Rowena," Eruestan said, smiling. "They have a few more pressing matters at hand."

She scowled. "These sort of things always end up about sewage, trust me."

"Stop saying 'sewage'," Leliana said, nose wrinkled. "And in any case, this is a great honor! Exactly how Grey Wardens should be treated!"

"This more to your liking, Leliana?" Alistair asked.

"More than fighting for my life against enraged cultists and undead corpses? Yes." She dropped her fork. "Oh, Maker! What am I going to wear?"

"Good point, Leli," Rowena said, standing up as the bard fled from the room; everyone else stood up with her. "We should all start getting ready now – and remember, find something with armor, for Maker's sake—er, Zevran?" The assassin was sitting stonily in his chair. "Do you…do you want to get changed?"

"Yes," he replied. "But I wouldn't want to leave without Eruestan's permission, of course."

The room fell silent again; Eruestan cleared his throat. "You have my permission, Zevran," he said coldly. "Unless you'd rather it be an order?"

The elf stood up and bowed theatrically. "Your wish is my command, Master."

Rowena smiled weakly as he walked past; she then glanced back at Eruestan. "Are you sure you—"

"Leave it, Rowena," Eruestan muttered. "We'll talk later."

She hesitated, and then nodded. There would be plenty of time to talk at the Assembly.

An hour later they were standing in the mansion's lobby, all looking anxiously at the second floor. "Leliana! Zevran!" Rowena called. "We're going to be late!"

"Coming!" Leliana called back.

Rowena wasn't convinced. "If we're late, you know they're going to kill us! Or at least try to!"

Alistair scoffed. "You think a bunch of dwarves could take us after everything else we've been up against?"

"Well, there's respect for you," Rolfdir said, walking through the front door behind them.

Rowena and Eruestan exchanged looks and sighed. "He didn't really mean that," Eruestan said. "I'm sure you could all kill us if you wanted to."

"Hopefully it won't come to that," Rolfdir said coolly. "Are you not ready to go?"

"We will be!" Rowena said. "We're all just a little…"

"Vain," Sten said.

"…delayed," she corrected. "We're delayed, that's all."

Rolfdir didn't seem impressed. "Well, have them hurry up!"

"We will, of course," she said, smiling warmly. Her face fell as she turned back upstairs. "_Move it_!"

"_Coming_!" they both yelled back.

Rolfdir sighed. "In any case, this is the ideal time for a few preliminary instructions. You will be entering the chamber in the middle of the Assembly's proceedings; under no circumstances will you interrupt what is happening."

"So no starting a kick line, then, huh?" Rowena asked, grinning; Rolfdir stared at her. "That was a joke, Rolfdir."

"We're here, we're here, there's no need to keep yelling," Leliana said as she and Zevran walked down the stairs. "He was finishing the last of my braids."

"Everything's all right now," Eruestan said, voice stiff. "Rolfdir, is it a long walk to the Assembly Hall?"

The dwarf shook his head. "Not at all. Follow me, please." To their surprise, instead of walking back out into the street, he began heading deeper into the house.

Rowena and Eruestan exchanged glances. "Er, Rolfdir?" she asked hesitantly. "Are you sure you're going the right way?"

"Follow me, please!" She sighed and ran ahead to catch up with him, the others following behind her. Rolfdir led them to a door at the end of a long hallway. Pushing it open, he revealed a well-paved tunnel stretching off into the distance. "Every home in the Diamond Quarter has a tunnel connecting it to the Assembly Hall," he explained. "This will lead you to your guest box. This way, please."

He led them down the tunnel and around a series of turns before arriving in front an ornately-carved doorway. Stepping through, Rowena stopped for a moment and stared at the room, impressed with the view. Their box was at the top of a large circular chamber that had to be a few hundred feet tall; each level was lined with boxes for the different noble houses. Someone was giving an impassioned speech in Dwarven down below; the rest of the Assembly was booing or cheering in response. The boxes were dark, though, and it was impossible to see the speakers, giving her the strange impression of hearing disembodied voices.

"You're in for a treat; there's a lot to discuss," Rolfdir said, sitting down on a bench. "Every house in the Diamond Quarter is here – save House Gardor and House Bralor, of course."

"House Bralor?" Eruestan asked. "Did they get banished as well?"

Rolfdir shook his head. "The Bralors are the most recent additions to the nobility; their founder, Branka, is the only living Paragon. She earned her Elevation through her invention of smokeless coal."

"Why aren't they here now?" Wynne asked.

The dwarf sighed. "It's foolish – Branka has decided to lead her house on a suicide mission through the Deep Roads in pursuit of myth and legend."

Sten snorted. "Sounds familiar."

"They all left?" Eruestan asked.

He nodded. "All save her husband, Oghren. The poor man woke up one morning and found a note saying they'd all disappeared. By all accounts he hasn't taken the blow well – though if you ask me he's lucky not to have been dragged down there."

Rowena felt Alistair shudder at her side. "What did they want to go into the Deep Roads for?" he asked in disgust.

"Branka thought she could find the Forge of Caridin," Rolfdir said. "It's an old dwarven legend, thought to be able of crafting extraordinary things. That's all it is though, legend. Hardly worth killing yourself in the Deep Roads for."

"Maybe that's where we should be, though," Rowena said. "It's where the darkspawn emerge, right? If we led an expedition down there…"

"Don't say that." Alistair's voice was harsh; she turned around in surprise. "Sorry," he muttered. "They're just…not nice, that's all."

Before she could question him further, Leliana frowned and asked, "Do they always talk over each other? This would be exceptionally rude in Orlais."

"Today is a little rowdy, that's true," Rolfdir said, shrugging. "But without a king, there's not much to keep us in order. It's a topic that will occupy us for a while."

"But that's not what they're talking about, is it?" Wynne asked, eyebrows furrowed as she listened. "Her speech is about…socks?"

Rolfdir gave her a half-smile. "Your Dwarven is much better than you let on. Yes, Lady Dace is complaining that House Lassig's livery is too similar to her own."

Eruestan looked surprised. "She's talking about that _now_? What does that have to do with choosing a new king?"

"It doesn't, not directly," Rolfdir said. "However, before they can vote on a new monarch, the Assembly must settle any standing disputes from the previous reign."

"All disputes?" Rowena asked in alarm.

He nodded. "Normally it falls to the monarch's heir. Now that the heir's contested, however, it's up to the Assembly to judge them all."

Rowena and Eruestan glanced at each other. "Well, how many are there?" Eruestan asked.

"That's a good question," Rolfdir said. "Let me consult the program." He pulled a thick packet of parchment out from a tray carved into their bench. "Hm…let's see…ah, there we are. There are 458 issues to be treated."

"_458_?" Eruestan looked horrified. "What number are they on now?"

Rolfdir checked the program again. "Number one."

"_One_?"

"Hey, let's stay calm," Rowena said, holding out a hand. "I'm sure they're going to speed through these issues – they have a lot bigger things to talk about, after all."

Five hours later they were all slumped over the couches in their living room. "Two topics," Rowena said dully, staring listlessly at the ceiling. "They debated for five hours and covered two topics."

"Livery and sewage," Eruestan said, pinching his nose. "All they talked about was livery and sewage. You were right, Rowena; I shouldn't have doubted you."

"I knew they threw everything in the lava, though," Alistair said. "But how long will it take to start talking about the new king, Rolfdir?"

The dwarf shrugged. "I think the longest it's taken is four years."

"_Four years_?" The whole room stared at him in shock.

"As a maximum!" he said. "On average it's much closer to two!"

"We don't have two years!" Eruestan said, sitting up straight. "There's a bloody Blight going on!"

"How on earth do you manage to survive four years without a king?" Rowena asked in wonder. "Ferelden's already falling to pieces and it's only been a few months!"

Rolfdir waved her off. "Oh, we're used to a little bit of anarchy down here…though, granted, we've never had this happen during a Blight…"

Eruestan had started pacing in the middle of the room. "We might have to leave," he said, hands in his hair. "Cut our losses, try to find the elves…we can try to do this without Orzammar…"

"You can't do that," Rolfdir said, frowning.

"I don't _want_ to do it without you, but we can't wait that long!"

"No, that's not what I mean," Rolfdir said. "You aren't allowed to leave the city."

There was a beat. "What?"

"You're not allowed to leave until this crisis is dealt with," he said. "Petitioners allowed special access to the throne aren't allowed to leave until the throne addresses them. It's in the protocol."

"Rolfdir, we can't stay here for four years!" Eruestan said, eyes wide. "We have a Blight to stop!"

"Average of two!" Rolfdir said. "And you should have thought of that before you entered Orzammar!"

"And you should have told us about all your ridiculous laws!"

"Eruestan!" Rowena said, staring at him; there was a note of panic in the elf's voice that she didn't like. "There has to be something we can do – isn't there a way for us to expedite things?"

"With things the way they are, no. However…" He paused for a moment, and then said, "Our problems stem from the fact that the king named two heirs to the throne; if either of their claims are eliminated, the Assembly will have nothing to vote on and there'll be a king to make a deal for you."

Zevran lifted himself up from his couch. "It sounds like we need a dashingly good-looking assassin to take care of things for us."

"When you find one, let me know," Rolfdir said drily; half the room chuckled, Eruestan among them. "And in any case, you may find that political elimination will be far more effective than physical. After all, if both end up dead, then the whole matter will be stuck in the Assembly's hands."

"But how do we politically eliminate anyone?" Rowena asked. "We hardly know how anything works here!"

"But you're Grey Wardens," he replied. "You may not realize it yet, but your position does give you influence here in Orzammar. I suggest you start using it, and fast." Somewhere in the house a bell rang. "Someone has left a message; forgive me, I'll retrieve it for you."

There was a brief silence as he left for the foyer. "We're never leaving this place, are we?" Alistair asked.

"Not with that attitude, we won't," Rowena said. She looked over at Eruestan, who was still pacing. "What should we do?"

"We'll have to choose," he said. "Choose fast, and then play as dirty as we need to."

"I can help with that," Leliana said. "First, though, we need to decide which side to take."

"Good news, Your Excellencies," Rolfdir said, reentering the room. "Both Prince Bhelen and Lord Harrowmont have invited you to attend tonight's Provings Ceremony – a wonderful display of one of our city's oldest traditions."

Wynne made a face. "There's going to be a Proving? Already?"

Rolfdir nodded. "It's customary in Orzammar to commemorate a fallen monarch with a night of Provings. The lists were drawn up last night."

"What are Provings?" Eruestan asked. "Is it academic?"

"Don't sound so excited," Rowena muttered; he grinned back at her.

"Unfortunately, it's nothing like that," Wynne said. "It's rather barbaric, to be honest – murder for entertainment."

"It's an ancient part of life in Orzammar!" Rolfdir said. "The Provings are a manifestation of the Ancestors' will; they were originally meant to settle our disputes and grant honor where it is due. Anyone with a grievance can drag his enemy to the arena; whoever walks out alive is declared the legal winner. Today's ceremony will be Memorial Provings, however, making them far more like your tournaments up on the surface."

Rowena instantly perked up. "Really? Can anyone enter?"

Eruestan narrowed his eyes. "Rowena…"

"Anyone from any caste may enter, yes." Her eyes lit up; before she could say anything, however, Rolfdir continued to say, "However, everyone needs noble patrons, and seeing as the lists were drawn up last night all the houses participating have already been accounted for." She scowled and slumped back in her seat. "What shall I tell His Lordship, and what shall I tell His Highness?"

Rowena and Eruestan exchanged a glance. "Tell them we're greatly honored," Eruestan said slowly, "and that we'll meet them at the arena."

"Excellent," Rolfdir said, bowing. "I'll let them know directly; do you know how to get to the Proving Grounds?" Wynne nodded. "Wonderful. Head there now; I'll meet with you afterwards."

"I imagine we'll have to wear something sturdy?" Alistair asked. "I mean, if you can't go through a dinner party without stabbing each other, a sports arena must be a total bloodbath."

Rolfdir looked scandalized. "Armor? At a Provings? Never! The Ancestors watch over the proceedings, to bring weapons into the arena would be an insult to their memory!" He left the room, shaking his head in disgust. "Honestly, surfacers…"

Alistair watched him leave, jaw open. "I will _never_ understand this city."

"So let try to comprehend this, though," Morrigan said, eyebrows raised. "The dwarves spend all their lives fighting darkspawn, they live in the last city of their former empire, they constantly have to watch out for each other's knives at their backs, _and_ they settle legal disputes through hand-to-hand combat? 'Tis a wonder they manage to survive at all."

Eruestan sighed. "Just so long as they don't kill themselves before they pick a new king, we'll be fine. Speaking of which, whose invitation are we going to accept? We can't go to both."

"Which one would be most likely to sponsor me in the lists?" Rowena asked, staring into space. "Bhelen, right? He's young, impulsive, right?"

"Rowena, none of us are fighting today—"

"Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever," she said, waving him off. "I'm going to Bhelen's box."

Eruestan pinched his nose. "I swear by the Maker, if you get us involved in a death match over a pit of lava…"

She shivered in anticipation. "Don't tempt me. But I'm serious! I need to meet him, anyways; I want to see if I can help negotiate a signed deal with him."

"I should go with you, then," Leliana said. "Wynne as well; she's the only one who knows anything about the dwarves."

"Is it wise to invest entirely in the prince?" Morrigan asked. "Surely Lord Harrowmont will not take kindly to us ignoring his invitation."

"Morrigan's right," Leliana said. "We should send someone to Harrowmont as well."

"I'll go," Eruestan said. "Bhelen probably won't want to see me after last night."

"And Alistair should go with you," Leliana said carefully, mapping everything out in her head. "If we send more people to Bhelen, but more Wardens to Harrowmont, the prestige will be balanced out." She paused. "Or at least I hope it will be."

"In that case, I will go with you and Rowena," Zevran announced; Rowena tried not to look at Eruestan.

"And I wish to go with Eruestan and Alistair," Morrigan said.

The two men stopped and stared at her. "Come again?"

"Do not look so surprised!" she snapped. "I…wish to spend more time with you, is all!"

They looked at each other. "Has she been possessed?" Alistair asked, leaning forward to peer into her eyes.

"Come any closer to me and possession shall be the least of your worries."

"Nope, definitely still her," Eruestan said in wonder. "But, I mean, that's great, Morrigan. You're more than welcome to come with."

"And that means Sten is with us," Leliana said. "More importantly, though, what are we going to say to each of them? Should we tell Harrowmont about the Dace and Helmi deals?"

Eruestan and Rowena glanced at each other. "Yes," Eruestan said slowly. "But we should tell Bhelen that we told Harrowmont. Both should think we're on their side until we make up our minds."

"Clever," Leliana said appreciatively. "You should let Harrowmont know that you're considering a deal with Bhelen, too – it might make him think twice about the 80%."

"I won't hold my breath," Eruestan said. "We should go, though; I have a feeling we won't want to be late."

The city was quiet as they left the house; Rowena assumed it must be evening, even though it was hard to tell underneath the earth. The view of the city from their mansion really was stunning; once again, she was blown away by its grandeur. "How long do you think it took them to build this place?"

"The dwarves will tell you it was all built by one man," Wynne said. "Caridin, the man Rolfdir was talking about. According to legend, he was a great hero builder who constructed the city and then turned himself into a golem to stop the encroaching darkspawn horde in the First Blight."

"A golem?" Alistair asked. "What's that?"

"A golem is an ancient war machine," she replied. "In essence, it was an animated anthropomorphic geologic structure capable of speech and voluntary decision."

The group stared at her.

"It was a moving war statue," she sighed.

"Oh!" Alistair said. "Sounds cool!"

"Sounds useful," Rowena and Eruestan said at the same time.

"It was both cool and useful, yes," Wynne said. "At the time, the golems were even able to push back the darkspawn and reconquer lost territories in the Deep Roads. But the golems disappeared centuries ago, Caridin with them; any attempts to find them have been utter failures. In any case, the legend of Caridin is mostly just that – legend. While there are records of Paragon Caridin during the First Blight, Orzammar was constructed centuries beforehand; there's no way it could be the same man."

"Stonecrusher," Alistair said; everyone stared at him. "That's what I'd want to be called if I was a war statue – Stonecrusher."

"And, yet again, Alistair completely misses the point," Morrigan said.

"I understood the point! What bigger point could there be beyond how cool it would be to be a war statue?"

"In any case, 'twould be fitting – you already have the mind of a rock, you might as well have the body to go with it."

"Anyways," Rowena said, ignoring the two of them as they began squabbling again, "Orzammar is really impressive."

"Where is everyone, though?" Leliana asked. "I've never seen a city so empty before."

"I imagine they're all at the arena," Wynne said. "All the castes are welcome at the Provings."

"That's wonderful!" Leliana said. "You know, this caste system is really fantastic. In Orlais, beggars line the streets – here everyone has a place. The Qun must be something like that, right, Sten?"

The Qunari wasn't listening to her. "Are we in the Smith Quarter?"

"We just passed it," Wynne said. "But we've almost reached the arena…"

He turned to Rowena. "I wish to visit Master Janar. Immediately."

Rowena and Eruestan glanced at each other. "Would you mind waiting just a little longer, Sten?" she asked slowly. "I don't think we want to be late for the Provings."

He stared at her. "My sword could be in his shop."

"We know, Sten," Eruestan said. "We can find it tomorrow, though – we really can't be late."

Sten kept staring at them, and for a moment Rowena was afraid he was going to push further. However, he finally began slowly nodding his head. "Tomorrow," he said. "We will go tomorrow."

"Definitely, first thing in the—ok, goodbye, then," Rowena said as Sten pulled ahead. "You know, I'm seriously afraid of the day that he tries to kill me."

"Better him than some hurlock," Eruestan said. They were passing by the city tavern; the same red-haired dwarf they had seen before was sitting in a pool of some bodily fluid, eyes half open. "Hey, Firecrotch," he slurred. "Lookin for a good time? Ditch String Bean and I'll show you how to really go under the surface."

Rowena smiled sweetly. "I'd rather die, thanks." Rolling her eyes, she grabbed Eruestan's arm and pulled him across the bridge to the Proving Grounds. "Honestly, do you think he's even moved from when we last saw him?"

"Something might have moved." She gagged as he winked at her. "Speaking of which, make any headway with Alistair last night?"

She snorted. "You mean after all the killing was over? Yeah, surprisingly that didn't really set the right mood." She sighed. "Besides, my nightmares last night were terrible."

"Mine were terrible, too," he said quietly. "I think it must have something to do with our proximity to the Deep Roads; I hardly slept at all last night."

She shrugged. "Well, yeah, and with Zevran inviting half the Diamond Quarter over…" She suddenly remembered whom she was talking to. "Oh…oh, Eruestan, I'm sorry, I didn't…"

"It's all right," he said shortly. "Like I said, it was a bad night."

She winced at the sound of his voice. "If it makes you feel better, at least you know you're not alone in your love troubles!"

"Surprisingly, that doesn't make me feel better." He sighed. "And don't call them 'love troubles.' I've been stupid, Rowena; Zevran doesn't feel anything for me."

"He does!" She had said it too loud; the small crowd gathered around the arena's entrance turned to stare at her. "He does," she hissed. "He obviously just doesn't realize how you feel about him."

"That's not true," he said, frowning. "Look, I know we spent a lot of time on the road pretending that he felt something for me, but now that he has a whole city to choose from, it's clear that he was only interested because I was the only one responding. Like I said, I've been stupid, that's all."

"No, _now_ you're being stupid," Rowena said. "How can you let one night change your mind about the past month? Anyone who's seen how he looks at you would know what he thinks about you, if you just told him how you felt—"

He shook his head. "No, there's no way I'm doing that."

"Eruestan!" She started to say something else; however, before she could, a gong blared from inside the arena. "What's going on?"

"The Provings are starting," Wynne said from the back, stepping out of the way from a crowd rushing towards the entrance. "We should hurry to get inside."

The two Wardens glanced at each other. "Fine," Rowena said, eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Let's split up, everyone – we'll see each other at the end of the night."

* * *

Eruestan watched as Rowena's group disappeared into the crowd, heart pounding. Zevran had walked past him without a glance, head held high. How had things turned out so poorly? What had he done? He wanted to reach out and talk to him, tell him that he was sorry…

"Eruestan?" Alistair asked. "Are you ok?"

He blinked and nodded. "Sorry! The crowd is a little distracting."

"There are tons of people," the knight admitted, looking around them as they passed through the doors to the arena. "Makes you wonder how they can stomach the idea."

"Of watching people kill each other? I imagine 'tis rather easy," Morrigan said, brusquely stepping through a pair of indignant dwarves.

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Surprise, surprise, Morrigan approves of the death matches."

"I neither approve nor disapprove of them," she said; they were walking into a large lobby bookended by giant staircases. "However, I admire the honesty of the tradition."

He snorted. "Honesty? What's honest about making people kill each other?"

"People die and kill each other every day; 'tis a natural part of life. At least the dwarves embrace the carnality of the world, rather than run from it."

"Well, there's a difference between acknowledging violence and killing each other for sport!"

"Hide from it all you want, we are all killers – whether or not 'tis on a stage is irrelevant."

"You're sick!"

"And you are a cretin!"

"Honestly, you two, get a room," Eruestan said, eyes scanning the crowd. The lobby was cavernous, its ceiling towering above them. Images of faceless dwarves lined the walls, while a large crystal chandelier dangled from above. Everyone in the room seemed to be in a hurry, placing bets, buying food from booths, and hurrying up the stone steps flanking the room that led to the stands. On the far end of the wall was a tournament bracket written in dwarven runes, filled with what Eruestan assumed could only be the names of people about to die.

"Ah, Your Excellencies," Rolfdir said, pushing his way towards them. "I'm told you'll be enjoying the festivities from Lord Harrowmont's box – you'll find him on the first level on the stairs to the left; his box will bear his colors, white and gold."

"Aren't you coming with us?" Eruestan asked, surprised.

He shook his head. "I will be observing from the second level, with the rest of the Merchant Caste. Don't worry, though, His Lordship will afford you all the hospitality Orzammar can offer."

"Yeah, that's reassuring," Alistair muttered; Eruestan elbowed him. "Ow! I mean, yes, I'm sure he will."

Rolfdir sighed. "I'll come collect you when the night is over. _Please_ try not to insult anyone."

"We'll do our best," Eruestan said, still glaring at Alistair. "We'll see you then, Rolfdir."

"All right, so what's the game plan?" Alistair whispered as they made their way up the stairs. "How are we going to tell Harrowmont our information on Bhelen?"

"With subtlety," Eruestan said. "The last thing we need is for word to go through the Diamond Quarter that we're spreading rumors about the prince."

"If subtlety's what we're after, 'twould have been a better idea to leave Alistair at home."

"Oh, would you just _shut up_!"

"Alistair!" Eruestan hissed; they were standing in front of an archway flanked by two guards wearing white and gold, both glaring at them.

"Oh," the knight said. "Damn."

"Ah, Wardens," Lord Harrowmont said, walking through the arch. "How good of you to come!" He paused. "But where are the others?"

They glanced at each other. "We received many invitations tonight, Your Lordship," Eruestan said slowly. "As you can see, though, out of respect to you we've sent two Wardens to your box."

Harrowmont sighed. "So Bhelen's gotten to you, too. Well, no matter – come, come. The first round has already begun."

They followed him into his box; Eruestan stopped and stared at what he saw. The arena was a massive, circular space lined with stands and boxes, vaguely reminiscent of the Assembly Chamber. These boxes were well lit, however, and Eruestan could see the spectators inside booing and cheering as the fighters below struck each other down. The grounds themselves were a few hundred feet down, to the point where the combatants seemed like toy figures killing each other at random. Noise echoed off the walls, filling Eruestan's ears; he had a strange, horrible sense of being detached from reality.

"The first round is a melee?" Alistair asked, taking his seat. "How many people are down there?"

"64," Harrowmont said. "They'll fight until 32 fighters remain, and then the next round they'll fight until 16 are left. After that, they'll be quickly sorted into brackets and will fight individual rounds until a victor is declared. But allow me to introduce you to my companions." He gestured to an ancient woman seated in the front. "This is Shaper Magda, current head of the Shaperate. And this is Boyar Helmi and his wife, Boyar Olga, of the Warrior Caste." A gaunt, pale couple turned to them and nodded before returning to the tournament. "Finally, we have an old friend of mine, Lady Daria Varenko." A pretty woman wearing impossibly large jewels smiled at them before whispering something to the maid seated next to her.

A gong sounded; the warriors immediately sheathed their weapons and walked off the field. "Are they done already?" Eruestan asked, watching as workers began dragging corpses out of the arena.

Harrowmont nodded. "They'll clear off the fields, let the fighters grab something to drink, and then begin the second round. You'd be surprised how fast these nights go." He looked at Lady Daria. "Is Bhelen's warrior still standing?"

She nodded. "Gospodin Aleksandr did very well, actually, though I'm personally surprised he showed up sober."

Harrowmont scowled. "Dagmar better not disappoint me tonight. If I lose one more step to Bhelen…"

The three Wardens glanced at each other. "We might be able to help with that, Your Lordship," Eruestan said. "We learned a few things about some of the deals the prince has been making across the city, and we thought you might be interested to hear them."

As he told Harrowmont about Bhelen's activities, the dwarf's face grew more and more pensive. "So Bhelen's offering more than he can promise, is he? I'm surprised Dace and Helmi let him drag them into deals without Shaperate approval."

"Oh, he got them both ratified with the Shaperate," Shaper Magda said; her voice sounded like two rocks grinding together. She easily was the oldest woman Eruestan had ever seen. "What neither of them know is that Bhelen also signed a deal with the Shaperate promising to only honor the deal struck with the house that gives him the most support. He's clever, even if he's an evil little brat."

"Evil?" Eruestan asked. "What makes you say that?"

The Shaper looked at him a little stiffly. "It wouldn't be proper to say."

"Oh, don't toy with them, Magda," Lady Daria said, laughing. "They'll find out sooner or later everything Bhelen's done, whether you tell them or not."

"Tell us what?" Alistair asked.

"Don't say anything too sordid, Dasha," Harrowmont said, amused. "I imagine some of what you know about His Highness would curl their toes."

"Pyroshka!" She slapped his arm gently, giggling. "I assure you, Wardens, that I only have the purest of information to share."

"If you are going to share it, then do so," Morrigan snapped. "Otherwise I suggest you flirt in another box."

Lady Daria's eyes narrowed slightly; however, she smiled just as broadly and said, "Well, it's hardly secret that he's been gallivanting about with some no-name Duster; she's even living in the palace, can you imagine? It's only a matter of time before they have a child, and then where will we be?"

"I hear she's already pregnant," Boyar Olga said, still staring at the empty arena. Her voice was flat and uninterested, as if mumbling to herself.

"Well, that's Dust Town for you," Lady Daria said. "Trashy things; how could Bhelen do it? Sully the Royal Palace with Dust Blood?"

"I'm sorry, what's Dust Town?" Eruestan asked. "Who are the Dusters?"

The nobles hesitated. "Dust Town is a neighborhood in the lower half of the city," Harrowmont said. "The people who live there are of much lower social standing; hardly suitable for a king."

"Well, maybe a little social mixing wouldn't be so bad," Eruestan said evenly. "If the prince is looking to even out the caste system…"

The lady snorted. "Please! The only thing Bhelen is looking for is a mistress on the side. But in any case, I wish her well; if the child's a boy, Bhelen will have to take her."

"Only a boy?" Morrigan asked. "Are girls valued so little here?"

"That's not what she means," Shaper Magda rumbled. "In mixed-caste unions, children belong to the family of the same-gendered parent. If this girl has a daughter, Bhelen will have no obligations. If she has a son, however, both she and the child will become attached to House Aeducan."

"And that's a bad thing?" Alistair asked.

"Only if you value tradition and basic decency!" Lady Daria shook her head, rattling the jewels at her throat. "That isn't even the worst, though."

Harrowmont frowned. "Careful, Dasha…"

"Oh, Pyral, it's nothing." She turned back to them. "This is all hearsay and rumor, of course, but they do say that it was Bhelen who killed Prince Trian, not their brother Duran."

For a moment, Eruestan didn't understand. "I'm sorry?"

"It was incredibly shocking, you know," she whispered, as if someone else was listening. "Old King Endrin had three sons, of course, and Bhelen was the youngest. Trian, the eldest, was a bit of a dunce, but Duran, the second son, was a prince in every sense of the word: handsome, kind, intelligent…which is why everyone was shocked a few months ago when Duran was found over Trian's dead body during an expedition to the Deep Roads."

"Maker," Alistair breathed.

She nodded. "Oh, it was quite the scandal, I assure you – the poor king was horrified, of course. Duran was thrown into prison and removed from the succession, and Bhelen became heir apparent. Never mind the fact that the old king never liked his third son…"

"I visited with Duran while he was in his cell," Harrowmont said. "The whole time he professed his innocence to me; he claimed thugs killed his brother and vanished before he could stop them. At the time it sounded nonsensical, but looking back I never did know Prince Duran to tell a lie…"

"And who benefits more from the elimination of his two brothers than Prince Bhelen?" Lady Daria asked smugly. "It's these sort of vicious, cut-throat politics that are going to destroy the city. Poor Prince Duran, though – to lose all one's honor due to the treachery of a brother."

"What happened to him?" Alistair asked, face pale.

"That's the mystery of it," Lady Daria replied. "The day of his execution, the guards went to his cell and found it empty. No sign of escape, either. It boggles the mind." A gong sounded again; the arena erupted into cheers. "Oh! The fighters are back! My word, Pyroshka, isn't Boyar Elena looking a little heavy?"

As the two nobles laughed, Eruestan sat back in his seat, uneasy. Picking sides was going to be a lot harder than he anticipated.

* * *

Meanwhile, Rowena was having trouble focusing between the fighting and her conversation with the prince. "Your Highness, we know you can't be happy about this development, but – _oh come on! You could have easily side-stepped that_!" she yelled as a fighter down below collapsed from an axe wound to the neck.

"What Her Ladyship is trying to say, Your Highness," Leliana said, cutting in, "is that given the current political tensions in Orzammar, we feel it is in everyone's best interests to cater to both sides until the conflict is resolved. That is why we told Harrowmont about the rumors, and why we've told you that we've told him."

The prince waved her off. "Come to Orzammar, you must play by its rules. To be honest, this might even help me in the long run." He turned to a man standing by his chair. "Vartag, send word to Lord Helmi and Lady Dace and let them know about the deal I made with the Shaperate. Once both of them discover that whoever helps me the most will receive the Gardor estate, they'll be falling over themselves to get into my good graces." The man bowed and left the box, just in time for Rowena to look down and see two dwarves be impaled by one woman's pike.

"This is fantastic," she murmured to Wynne and Zevran. "Our tournaments are so boring compared to this!"

"I think I rather prefer boredom," Wynne said. "Though it is a fascinating phenomenon to watch…"

"I'm having terrible luck, though," Zevran said. "All the attractive fighters keep getting killed."

Rowena looked over at him. "Do you really have that much of a preference for dwarves, Zevran?"

"I have no room for preferences in my life," he said lazily, watching the field. "I am just as attracted to a handsome dwarf as I would be to a beautiful human like yourself. Getting attached is no way to live."

"And what about love, Zev?" Leliana asked.

He smiled, but Rowena could see something strange in his eyes, an expression she couldn't identify. "I have no room for love, either, Leliana." There was a cheer from the stands. "_Merda_! There goes another one!"

"I would recommend not getting too attached to the combatants, Wardens," Bhelen called over. "The only way out of that arena is to kill or be killed."

"Is that really the only option?" Wynne asked. "I know I saw a match once where both participants walked off the field."

"Both can come together to dedicate their match to a single sponsor and claim a victory together," Bhelen admitted. "That might happen tonight; still, with the city as tense as it is, I doubt it."

Wynne sighed. "Succession crises," she murmured to Rowena. "They always bring out the worst in people."

"Was there this much turmoil when King Maric died?" she asked, not taking her eyes off the fighting. "I was only 12 when it happened, I wasn't paying any attention at all."

"To be fair, I was locked in a tower at the time," Wynne said, smiling. "Still, I do remember there being a bit of controversy. Some people thought King Cailan too inexperienced to take the throne; if I remember correctly, quite a few people were willing to give it to your father."

Rowena looked over at her in surprise. "My father?"

She nodded. "Teyrn Cousland refused, though, which may have been the wiser decision in the end. Cailan was the blood of Calenhad, after all, which still means quite a bit to most people in Ferelden."

"Meaning our friend Alistair should really be thinking about his future," Zevran said, winking at a lady sitting next to him.

"He _really_ should be," Leliana said. "Have you spoken with him about it, Rowena?"

Everyone stared at her; for some reason, she began to feel embarrassed. "I haven't," she admitted. "But I mean, we all know he doesn't want the throne."

"It's not a matter of what he wants, unfortunately," Wynne said. "It's a matter of what's best for the country."

There was a knot in her stomach that she couldn't explain. "I'll… I'll think about it."

A gong sounded; the fighters left the arena once more. "Finally, the individual matches are about to start," Bhelen said. "Who's fighting for Harrowmont, by the way?"

Someone snickered. "Dashing Dagmar," a man next to them said, grinning wickedly.

The prince laughed. "By the Stone, Mads, are you sure? Is that the best Harrowmont can do? Does he have rocks for brains?"

"Who's 'Dashing Dagmar'?" Rowena asked the man.

"Officially it's 'Boyar Dagmar', and you probably saw her on the field," Mads said, smiling. "Gold and white armor, giant battle axe? She's a very decorated warrior, probably one of the best in the city – but she's got terrible stage fright. Much more suited on the field than in the arena. She's notorious for surrendering right before the individual rounds."

"In that case, why would Lord Harrowmont choose her?" Leliana asked.

He shrugged. "Like I said, she's an excellent soldier. She also comes from one of the strongest families in the Warrior Caste. I expect Harrowmont's catering both to her pride and her family's."

"And who's fighting for Bhelen, then?" Rowena asked. "Someone equally as prestigious?"

His eyes twinkled. "It's a little scandalous, which is why Bhelen did it. Instead of choosing a deshyr or a boyar, as almost all the nobles do, Bhelen selected Gospodin Aleksandr from the Merchant Class. He's a well-known brawler, and a good fighter, but as a champion he's raising a few eyebrows." The man's voice dropped to a whisper. "He's been raising a few bottles of ale in-between rounds, too, but you didn't hear that from me."

There was a loud giggle from Bhelen's throne; Rowena looked over to see a young, red-haired girl who was obviously pregnant laughing at the prince's side. "Is that his wife?" she asked, noticing the large tattoo on her face.

The lady sitting next to Zevran snorted. "She wishes! That's Rica, the prince's paramour." She looked up to the assassin and winked. "She's casteless, of course, but if she has a son she very well may be Queen Mother one day. Lanca Tural, by the way."

"Casteless?" Leliana asked. "You mean a surfacer?"

"She means a Duster," Mads said. "The casteless exist outside of the caste system. They're mainly criminals and thugs; word on the street is Bhelen's looking to improve their living conditions, though."

"I've never heard of the casteless before," Wynne said, frowning. "Where do they live?"

"They live in a place called Dust Town, at the bottom of the city – and the reason you've never heard of them is because no one ever discusses them. It used to be impolite to even mention Dusters in passing." Lanca flushed as Zevran smoldered at her. "Change is coming with Bhelen, though, trust me."

"And not with Harrowmont?" Wynne asked.

"Please, that old windbag?" Mads rolled his eyes. "You know, they say he's the one who let Duran escape?"

Lanca gasped. "You're kidding!"

"Who's Duran?" Rowena asked.

They glanced at each other. "He was King Endrin's second son," Lanca said, smiling as Zevran whispered something in her ear. "He killed his elder brother and was too stupid to not get caught doing it."

"Word is Harrowmont set him free out of respect for House Aeducan," Mads said. "Ridiculous that a murderer should be liberated because of his royal blood."

"I'm surprised you both support him, though," Leliana said. "Nobles rarely wish to see their rights stripped from them."

They both looked at each other and laughed. "For Stone's sake, we're not nobles," Lanca said. "We're both from the Merchant Caste."

Another gong sounded; everyone looked down on the field. "So that's House Holdir's champion, Lady Gerta," Mads said. "She's fighting House Rellig's champion, Boyar Sergei."

"Bhelen's champion is fighting next," Lanca said, simpering at Zevran. "Dagmar will fight after him."

Rowena stopped paying attention to them as the two fighters approached each other. "Oh, come _on_! His stance is all wrong! She has a longsword, for Maker's sake!"

Suddenly, Prince Bhelen roared in anger. "It looks like His Highness agrees with you," Leliana remarked.

"How dare he get sick ten minutes before his match!" Bhelen yelled, jumping up from the throne; his mistress cowered away from him. "Does he have any idea what sort of sacrifices I've made, letting him be my champion?"

Mads snorted. "Looks like Gospodin Sasha enjoyed a little too much ale this time around…"

"Who the hell am I going to have replace him, huh? _Blyad'!_" He looked around angrily, trying to find a replacement. "Vartag, you can join, can't you?"

The man snorted. "Not unless you want both me and your family's honor to die down there."

"_Der'mo_! Is no one going to help me out?"

Rowena was standing before she was even aware she had made a decision. "I'll do it."

"_Rowena_!" Both Wynne and Leliana tried to drag her down; she shook them off and stared directly at the prince. "I'll do it," she said calmly, her heart rate picking up in excitement. "I have a lot of experience, Your Highness; I won the Denerim tourney last year."

The prince stared at her for a moment. "You know, of course, that if you win this for me, Harrowmont will refuse to work with you."

"_Exactly_," Leliana and Wynne both hissed, trying again to pull her down.

She ignored them. "My offer still stands, Your Highness." It was time they took sides, she thought to herself; in any case, she really wanted a good fight.

Bhelen stared for a moment longer, then started nodding. "Good – good! Vartag, get her ready _now_ – Stone knows how long this match will last."

"Of course – Your Excellency, follow me, please."

Leliana and Wynne both sent her death glares as she left the box, but she didn't mind. It was time to show Orzammar what surfacers were made of.

* * *

Over in Harrowmont's box, Eruestan was having a hard time not wincing as the two fighters below threw blow after blow against each other. "Why does this one feel so much more intense?" he asked, jumping as House Holdir's champion swiped at her opponent's legs. "I didn't care half as much during the melees."

"'Tis more personal this time around," Morrigan said. "Now you only see two fighters, and you know that one of them must die. In a sense, 'tis a struggle not between two warriors, but between life and death itself."

"Maker, you're cheerful," Alistair said. "Anyways, I'm hungry – anyone want me to grab them some snacks?"

"I'm fine," Eruestan said, grimacing. "I don't think I could eat."

"No problem!" He scowled at Morrigan. "I guess I could get you something, too."

"I would not accept it even if you did," she said coolly. He rolled his eyes and left the box. She coughed a little awkwardly and looked at Eruestan. "There's something I need to talk with you about, Eruestan," she said softly.

"Can it wait till later, Morrigan?" he asked. "I'm feeling a little sick."

She tsked impatiently. "'Tis a rather pressing issue – I know what Wynne is!"

Eruestan started and turned to her in apprehension; before he could say anything, though, Harrowmont threw his cup to the ground. "What do you mean, she won't come out of her room?" he bellowed at a messenger standing at his side.

"What's the matter, Pyral?" Lady Daria asked in alarm.

"It's that damn bronto-headed coward! Hand me that goblet!" The messenger quickly stooped down to hand the cup to the dwarf, who promptly threw it to the ground again. "She promised she wouldn't do this to me, damn it!"

Lady Daria gasped. "She's not backing out, is she?"

"Of course she's backing out! Boy, cup!" The messenger handed it to him again; Harrowmont chucked it away for a third time. "If I can't find a replacement for her in the next fifteen minutes, I'm going to be the laughing stock of the entire city!" He turned to the two warriors sitting in his box. "Olga, Helmi, would you be able to…" Without looking at him, they both shook their heads. "Damn! Who else could…" His eyes fell on Eruestan and Morrigan; the elf didn't like his expression. "Ser Surana," Harrowmont said slowly, "I'm afraid I must ask something of you that I would normally never require of a guest. If you would be able to volunteer yourself in the arena…"

Eruestan frowned. True, he had faced worse before, but would declaring himself for Harrowmont be the best move politically? "I'm not sure, Your Lordship…"

"Perhaps you don't understand the gravity of this ceremony, Your Excellency," Harrowmont said. "If my champion forfeits before even entering the third round, I'll be laughed out of Orzammar. My claim to the throne will be ruined, and Bhelen will be named king. I need someone down in that arena."

Eruestan bit his lip. Here was actually an opportunity to eliminate one of the rivals for the throne and advance their cause; at the same time, Harrowmont was the only candidate they had made a deal with. And if what Lady Daria had said about the prince was true…

Harrowmont saw his hesitation. "If you do this for me," he said quickly, "I'll pledge you all of Orzammar's armies in the battle to come."

Eruestan paused, glanced at Morrigan, and then glanced at Shaper Magda. "Would that be allowed?"

The old woman sighed. "Get it ratified with the Shaperate, and you can allow anything in this city."

_Damn_, he thought to himself. "All right, Your Lordship. Sign with Morrigan; I'll be your champion."

"Excellent!" The dwarf clapped loudly; one of his guards turned around. "Escort His Excellency to Boyar Dagmar's dressing room – and tell that fool woman that the next time I see her, it better be at her Joining ceremony for the _Lyegion Myortvikh_!"

* * *

Alistair walked into the booth moments after Eruestan left it, arms full of roasted nug ears and a bucket of fried cheese balls. "Sorry I'm late, the lines were _unbelievable_—hang on." He paused as he took in what was happening. "Morrigan, why are you signing a deal with Lord Harrowmont?"

The witch sighed. "Fear not, Alistair, I am not plotting behind your back. I am merely doing as Eruestan asked me and finishing our negotiations with His Lordship."

Alistair frowned. He knew Morrigan too well to trust that. "Why couldn't Eruestan do that himself?"

"The Warden has graciously agreed to champion me in the lists," Harrowmont said, signing his own name with a flourish. "He is preparing to fight in the next round."

"Oh!" That sounded strange; still, he trusted Eruestan's judgment, and the cheese balls smelled extremely good. "Does anyone want anything to eat? I bought extra."

"Do not soil our hosts with your poison, Alistair."

He scowled at the witch. "You would know about poison, wouldn't you?"

"I know about a great deal of things, Alistair, unlike yourself."

"Before this becomes a great battle of wits," Lady Daria said, eyebrow raised, "I should inform you that the next fighters have taken the field."

They both looked down and froze. Someone very familiar had walked into the arena. "Is that…?" Morrigan asked.

"What is Rowena doing there?" Alistair asked, jolting from his seat. "Who's she fighting for?"

Harrowmont spat into his cup. "Prince Bhelen."

Alistair grimaced. This was going to be tricky.

* * *

"She's certainly very good, isn't she?" Bhelen asked, watching Rowena move on the floor below. "I—_oh!_" Everyone in the box gasped as the Warden kicked her opponent in the chest, sending him flying back.

Leliana, however, had seen Rowena fight too often to be impressed. "She's had a lot of practice, Your Highness." His mistress was a pretty girl, even if the tattoo across her left cheek ruined the rest of her face. She wondered where she had gotten it. There had been a lovely bard in Val Royeaux once, a tall young man who had been built like a statue, but he had thrown everything away with a similar tattoo after a night with a bottle of moss-wine. Maybe the dwarf girl had the same story. Regardless, her gown was beautiful, gold cloth and silver metalwork, even if Leliana could tell that she was not accustomed to wearing such finery. "I really must have a dress made here," she said to Wynne. "It'd be one small point of luxury in all this, at least."

"If you find the money for such things, let me know," Zevran said. "I would kill for a new pair of boots." He winked again at Lanca. "Do you get it?"

She blushed. "Yes, I…well, wait. No, no I don't."

"He's an assassin," Wynne sighed. "He could literally kill for a pair of boots."

"I am very clever, no?" Zevran said. Lanca giggled; Leliana rolled her eyes. There was no need to inflate his ego any further.

"Well, that's settled, then," Wynne muttered as Rowena plunged her blade into her opponent's chest. "I hope her fifteen minutes of glory were worth throwing all our negotiations with Harrowmont out the window."

"The Wardens do as they please, Wynne," Sten growled. "Regardless of honor or duty."

"You can't mean that, Sten," Leliana said; the Qunari did not look at her.

"It was a foolhardy decision," Wynne sighed. "Though maybe it's for the best that our support be thrown into one side…But no matter. The next fighters are coming out."

"It's Harrowmont's next, right?" Leliana asked. "Her armor was lovely, I'd love to—_Eruestan?_"

"_What_?" Both Wynne and Zevran shot up straight.

"What's he doing down there?" the assassin said, perhaps a little too quickly. "He will be all right, will he not?"

"Of course he will," Leliana said, smiling. "He's very good at—"

"He needs help!" Wynne cried, gripping the edges of the box. "His magic's useless!"

"What do you mean by that?" Zevran's voice was harsh, harsher than Leliana had ever heard it. "He has strong magic, I've seen it – ice, fire, lightning—"

"Dwarves are extremely resistant to magic," Wynne said, eyes on the field. "It's why they're able to mine lyrium, it's why there are no dwarven mages – magic can only affect them indirectly."

"What does that mean?" Leliana asked.

She shrugged helplessly. "He can send something flying at them, shrink their armor - anything that operates through a physical medium."

"Will he know that?"

Her face looked pained. "He might – or he might not. If he doesn't act fast, though, it won't matter if he does or not."

* * *

Eruestan stared at the warrior at the other end of the arena. The atmosphere on the floor was far different than that in Harrowmont's box. The walls seemed hundreds of feet taller from the ground; the screams and jeers from the crowds above were disorienting. His opponent was a frightening mass of steel and battle-axe, armor glinting in the light of the massive chandelier overhead.

But there was time to focus on the décor later. Drawing in his energies, he summoned a ball of lightning and sent it crashing into the warrior's chest. Thinking his job done, he lowered his hand…only to see his opponent still charging at him from down the field.

There was no time for panic. He raised his hand again to coat the warrior in ice; a blue mist enveloped her, but she pushed through it. Trying to give himself time to think, Eruestan threw up a magical barrier; the dwarf broke through it like it was paper.

Before he could think, the dwarf's axe swung through the air towards his neck. He closed his eyes and threw up his hands…just as someone yelled his name.

* * *

Leliana, Wynne, and Sten were all standing, faces pale; Zevran, however, had jumped from his seat and cried the mage's name. For a terrible, gut-wrenching moment, Leliana thought the axe had buried itself in Eruestan's body. Then, as no blood spurted out, she realized that Eruestan's magic had caught the weapon in mid-air. For a moment, the arena was silent as the warrior struggled to pull her axe from the air; then, as if moving in a dream, Eruestan flicked his wrists and slashed down with his hands, flipping the axe around and planting it into its owner's helmet.

"He's ok," Zevran said in disbelief, sitting back down; the crowd booed as the dwarf's corpse was dragged away into the tunnels. "He's going to be ok."

"For now, at least," Lanca yawned, linking arms with him. "I wonder why he was chosen of all people to fight in the arena; everyone knows mages are useless against the Dwarva." She rested her head on Zevran's shoulder and sighed. "Harrowmont must be quite a heartless man."

"Surely His Lordship didn't know about this!" Wynne gasped.

"I'd be surprised if he didn't," Mads said. "I suspect Harrowmont chose him for the same reasons he chose Dagmar; the allure was too enticing, even if he wasn't likely to win."

"Who's he fighting next?" Zevran asked, obviously distracted by Lanca, who had started petting his hair.

"Boyar Sergei, from the first match," Mads said. "It should be easy enough."

"You realize what this means, though?" Leliana said, eyes wide. "If Rowena and Eruestan meet, they'll have to fight. And if no one gets out of the arena alive…"

"Don't trust your Stone before you've stepped on it," Lanca said. "The mage has to survive the next round to get to the finals."

"What?" Zevran sat up abruptly, knocking her head from his shoulder. "What did you say?"

She looked confused. "That he may not survive the next round…" He had already stood up and was heading towards the exit.

"Zevran!" Leliana called. "Where are you going?"

The assassin ignored her. "Boyar Sergei, you said?" Mads nodded. "I'll be back." Without looking back he left the box, everyone watching in disbelief as he disappeared down the corridor.

* * *

Meanwhile, Rowena was pacing back and forth in her dressing room, babbling excitedly to her attendant. "Now _this _is what tournament fighting should be about," she said, bouncing slightly. "This is just, I don't know, so much more _intimate_ than Fereldan tourneys. You have no idea how much I've missed this!"

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Your Excellency," her attendant said, cleaning off her sword. "Your next opponent is a Silent Sister; she won't let you walk off the field that easily."

Rowena waved him off. "I'm not afraid of any priestesses." She paused for a moment. "Except maybe Leliana."

"The Silent Sisters are no priestesses, Your Excellency," the attendant said, handing her the weapon. "They are exceptional warriors, dedicated to the memory of Paragon Astyth the Grey. In tribute to her, they fight with no weapons and cut out their tongues."

"Maker! Why would they do that?"

"Paragon Astyth campaigned to have women enter the warrior caste," he said. "When no one would listen, she cut out her own tongue and then won a Grand Provings bare-handed. The Silent Sisters commemorate her."

"That sounds like Ser Aveline," Rowena said. "Only she cut her hair, not her tongue."

The dwarf shrugged. "Perhaps the Dwarva are just a little more dramatic. All the same, the Sisters shouldn't be taken lightly."

"I've never been one to underestimate an opponent, don't worry." The gong sounded again; a familiar thrill went down her spine. "Wish me luck!"

The tunnel leading to the arena was quiet, the muffled roars of the crowd coming from the other end. With a deep breath to calm herself, she stepped out into the light, the roars of the crowd echoing in her ears. Her opponent was at the other end, wearing only a rough tunic. Rowena frowned; no weapons _and_ no armor? Something wasn't right.

She and the Sister approached each other, both wary. Rowena readied her sword, waiting for the dwarf to attack. For a moment, there was nothing. Then, the sister jumped forward.

Rowena hacked down with her sword; from nowhere, her feet were swept out from under her. She rolled away and tried to strike again; her sword was suddenly kicked out of her hand. She blocked the Sister's punch with her shield; it was strong, as if the dwarf was carrying a maul. Snarling, Rowena pushed up with her shield and sent the dwarf flying.

Rowena spun around and crouched into a defensive position, her shield slanted down between her and the dwarf, who had rolled into a warrior's stance. With a grunt, Rowena charged forward and tried to blast her back; instead, the dwarf grabbed the shield and flung her around. As the shield went flying, she crashed to the ground, gasping in her armor. Before she could move, the dwarf had jumped on her chest and was pummeling her face. Ducking under one of her fists, Rowena wrapped her arms around the Sister's body and flipped her over, landing three quick strikes to the dwarf's head before leaping up to grab her sword. The Sister grabbed at her leg again; this time she fell to her side and kicked her opponent hard in the face. Even as blood poured from her mouth, the Sister spun around and crouched facing Rowena, her eyes vicious.

Both were now bleeding freely; the crowd was cheering, their voices thunder in the arena, but all Rowena could focus on was the sound of her own panting. Her sword was lying to her left; she feinted towards it, and then grabbed the Sister as she lunged in that direction. Throwing her to the ground, she reached for the sword again. Moving impossibly fast, the dwarf dragged her to the earth and, straddling her back, wrapped her arms around Rowena's neck.

Her arms were strong, incredibly so; Rowena couldn't breathe. Struggling to move, she struck twice at the dwarf's side, but the Sister did not move. Air was being squeezed out of her legs; the arena was starting to go fuzzy. _No_, she thought angrily. _I refuse to be killed by someone with no tongue_! There was a small, pointed rock lying within reach; in a burst of concentration, she grabbed it with her free hand and slammed the pointed end into the Sister's eye.

The crowd screamed as the dwarf's grip loosened, her blood dripping on Rowena's neck. Shaking her off, Rowena turned around and stood up, her expression grim. The Sister was not yet dead. Disgusted, Rowena picked up her sword and ended her rival's agony.

The crowd was booing now, mourning the loss of one of Orzammar's finest, but Rowena paid no attention. It was time to face her last opponent.

* * *

Boyar Sergei was a big man, a highly irritable man, and one that did not like to be kept waiting. Standing in the tunnel before his next fight, he was in a particularly sour mood; his idiot squire was ten minutes late with his shield, and his match was about to start.

There were footsteps running down the tunnel; he turned around in anger. "_Vot ty,_" he spat into the darkness. "_Gdye ty byl, durak…_"

A knife shot from the shadows, plunging into his neck. "Good luck with the match, my friend," a Topsider accent muttered, pushing him out into the arena.

Eruestan was standing at the other end, hand twitching. His last match had been far too close for comfort; now that he knew dwarves were resistant to magic, he wished he'd never volunteered to do Harrowmont's dirty work. His attendant had given him a small dagger; it felt foolish in his hands, as useful as a butter knife.

This opponent, however, seemed less intimidating that the other had been. He was clutching at his neck, his sword still sheathed; he took a step forward and stumbled to his knees.

Eruestan was in no mood to fall for any tricks. Heart racing, he flung out his hand and sent his dagger flying across the arena with magic, planting itself in the dwarf's head.

* * *

"Well, he certainly took care of that," Leliana giggled nervously as the dwarf below fell to the ground, dead. "Oh, there you are, Zevran – you missed it, Eruestan's going to the finals."

"Is he? Good." The elf sounded casual as he took his seat next to Lanca; Leliana could see, however, that he was flushed. "It will be him and Rowena, then?"

"It appears so," Wynne said, biting her lip. "You don't think they'll actually fight each other, will they?"

"It's the rules of the Provings," Mads said. "They have to fight."

"But they can dedicate the fight, can't they?" Leliana asked. "There's no need to kill themselves?"

"With this crowd? I wouldn't count on it."

"They'll think of a way out of this," Wynne murmured. "They have to have a plan; they have to know that they're fighting each other."

* * *

"I don't like that I don't know who's fighting for Harrowmont," Rowena muttered in the tunnel. "I'd rather be prepared to confront my opponent."

"My apologies, Your Excellency," her attendant said. "All I've heard is that he's an unconventional fighter."

"I feel like that's all anyone is in this arena." The gong sounded again; she sighed and stepped forward, her body still aching from the beating she'd taken in the last round.

As usual, the light in the arena blinded her. The crowds were booing for some reason; could they all hate her so much? Then she looked across the field and saw who her opponent was.

She immediately sheathed her sword. Across the stadium, Eruestan lowered his hands as well, his face shocked. They approached each other in disbelief, ignoring the jeers of the crowd. "What are you doing here?" he hissed at her.

"I'm fighting for Bhelen!" she hissed back. "Why are you fighting for Harrowmont?"

"His champion backed out!" People were screaming now, jumping from their seats and throwing food at them. "What are we going to do?" he whispered, eyes darting around the stands. "Are we going to fight?"

That was the last thing Rowena wanted; still, she had heard what Bhelen had said: the only way out was to kill or be killed. Then, suddenly, she remembered his caveat. "Bhelen or Harrowmont?" she asked.

"What?"

"Citizens of Orzammar!" she bellowed, raising her hands. The stands fell silent as if by magic. Eruestan looked at her in surprise, but raised his hands as well. "We, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, in honor of your late King Endrin and your Ancestors, do dedicate this final round battle to..."

"To victory!" Eruestan cried, cutting her off. She shot him a look; he nodded to reassure her. "We dedicate it to our combined alliance against the Blight!"

For a moment, the loud silence of a thousand spectators filled the arena. Then, with a great rumbling, the doors leading to the tunnels opened again. Grabbing each other's hands, Eruestan and Rowena made their way to the exit as a storm of howls, jeers and insults began to rain down upon them. Spectators were starting to throw heavier items at them: boots, hats, even small rocks. Still, they hurried forward, ducking behind the doors and taking refuge in the darkness.

"That was insane," Eruestan snapped, pushing forward. "How dare they both throw us into the same match? How dare they get upset when we refuse to kill each other?"

"Let them think whatever they want," Rowena said. "We just need to get out of here before the crowd gets to us."

Their companions were waiting for them in the lobby. "Eruestan!" Zevran said, running to them. "Are you all right?"

"I'm…I'm fine, Zev," Eruestan said, obviously taken aback. "None of my rounds were that bad."

"That's not what Harrowmont thinks," Alistair said. "We left the instant Rowena started talking – the man's pissed."

"The whole stadium's pissed," Leliana corrected. "They're all watching the closing ceremonies, but we absolutely have to leave before—"

"_Stop them_!" Before they could do anything, a whole squadron of guards appeared from nowhere and circled them, spears pointed at their chests. The group raised their hands in alarm.

The crowds were now pouring into the lobby, all of them hissing at the Wardens. Rolfdir pushed his way through, face sweaty. "Ah, Your Excellencies," he panted, mopping his face. "I see you're in a bit of a predicament."

"That's one word for it, yes," Rowena said, glaring at the soldier in front of her.

"Zevran!" Lanca was pushing her way to the front, too. "Stay strong, my love!"

"I see you've made a friend," Eruestan said icily; Zevran's face became rather hard.

"What is going on, Rolfdir?" Wynne asked. "Why are the guards attacking us?"

The dwarf clearly looked uncomfortable. "Well, you see, Your Excellencies, for your blatant disrespect of Provings protocol…you are hereby placed under house arrest by the Assembly."

Rowena and Eruestan stared at each other and both cursed internally. This was going to complicate matters.

* * *

_A million apologies! As usual school and life got in the way (it didn't help that this chapter was very tricky for me - I always get stuck in Orzammar for some reason!) Thank you for your patience and your lovely support (especially the fantastic mille libri!) Happy Easter! _


	33. Mire and Dust

_A hastily written note found lying on a table in Rendon Howe's office. The note has been scribbled on the back of an opened official letter to the Empress of Orlais; a perfect copy has been sealed and sent to Val Royeaux._

_Celene,_

_I know you haven't received my messages. Someone is observing me. Send troops across the border immediately. Maker send this to you._

_Anora_

* * *

_Madame la Commandeuse de la Garde des Ombres d'Orlaïs,_

_We thank your for your impassioned reports from our outpost at the border and agree that the situation in Ferelden is extremely alarming. Anyone who would deny the emergence of a fifth Blight would be a fool. Unfortunately, this is exactly the policy the Lord Regent Loghain has pursued. While it beggars belief, the Fereldan Crown has firmly refused all Orlesian support. Out of respect for our eastern brethren, we cannot allow any of our subjects to cross the border, your illustrious selves included. Rest assured, the instant we receive a call for help, you will be the first to enter Ferelden. _

_With most respectful salutations,_

_Celene de Valmont, Impératrice d'Orlaïs_

Radriline threw the letter into the fire. "_Espèce de salope!_" She turned to face the other two Wardens in the room. "What does Celene think she's playing at? She can't possibly believe that we'll defeat the Blight with polite letters and curtsying!"

The older woman seated at the table by the fire sighed. "The empress knows exactly what she's doing," Commander Clarel said. "She's nothing if not a politician."

Riordan, the man at Radriline's side, frowned. "We're supposed to be above politics, Clarel, especially during a Blight." His Orlesian was fluent, though he still spoke with his native Fereldan accent.

"Yes, I've been told as such," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Had we always stood by that policy, we might have been in a position to do something. But ever since Sophia Dryden…"

Radriline scoffed. "That damn woman – must we drag her name into every conversation about our position in Ferelden? She's been dead for two ages."

"The Fereldan memory runs deep, Radriline," Clarel said. "Dryden's bid for the throne plunged the country into war and tore families apart – scars that have refused to heal for two ages. Don't forget, either, that many blame the Order for weakening the country on the eve of the Orlesian invasion."

"You forget that I'm Fereldan, Commander," Riordan said. "Our memories may run long, but we'd never turn away Wardens in the middle of a Blight."

Clarel shook her head and rose from the table. "It's not the people of Ferelden I'm worried about," she said, approaching the fire. "It's Loghain."

"Surely no one would support him against us?"

"All that time in Ferelden, and you're still unaware of how they feel about us?" Radriline pursed her lips; Clarel continued. "Not only are we Grey Wardens, we are Orlesians – Orlesians led by a mage, I might add." She flared a ball of flame in her fist to emphasize her point. "Entering the country with our reputation and our shared history would be far too risky."

"Risky?" Radriline asked. "Since when do we worry about risks?"

"I am not speaking of personal risks, Radriline," Clarel said, staring at the fireplace. "I command 200 men and women here in Orlais – more than were in Ferelden, to be sure, but not enough to take on a horde without an army at our backs. If I defy the empress's wishes, that army will not be Orlesian. If I insult the Lord Regent, it will not be Fereldan, either."

Riordan furrowed his eyebrows. "What are you saying, Commander?"

She turned around to look at them. "If the Order enters Ferelden and meets the wrath of Loghain, we will be destroyed, and the entire south of Thedas will be left defenseless against the Blight. I cannot take that risk."

For a moment, Radriline couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You swore an oath to protect all of Thedas, Clarel, not just Orlais."

"And if Orlais falls, how fast do you think the rest of the continent will follow?" The other two Wardens were silent. "No other nation can match the Empire's strength: not Nevarra, not Antiva, not even Tevinter. We _need_ Orlais at all her strength to end this, and even then only with a union of foreign armies at our backs. If Ferelden is the price we must pay to save the rest of Thedas, then I will pay it with a heavy heart."

"Should the people of Ferelden pay that price as well?" Radriline asked. "Innocent men, women, and children slaughtered for the common good? We need to be there, Clarel!"

"Some of us are," she replied. "We have Alistair, and the two Junior Wardens…"

"They're children!" Radriline cried. "Even Alistair hardly understood the gravity of his position! They won't know the first thing about fighting the Blight!"

She nodded. "But as of now, they are all we have."

Riordan spat. "This is despicable, Commander."

"I agree," she replied. "All we can hope is that Loghain will come to his senses, and that Val Royeaux will permit us to cross the border."

"But Clarel—"

"Enough," she said wearily, sitting back down at the table. "I know you are not a member of my Order, Radriline, but while I am Commander of the Grey in Orlais, no Warden shall leave the country. Am I understood?"

Radriline clenched her fists. "Yes."

"Thank you." Clarel reached for a stack of papers piled in front of her. "Now get some sleep, both of you. Training exercises begin early tomorrow."

Nodding sullenly, the two left the commander's cabin and stepped out into the mountain pass. The air was crisp and still, the only sounds the crunching of snow underfoot. "She's a fool," Radriline hissed. "The fact that—"

"Not now," Riordan whispered, walking towards the Warden camp. "Later tonight."

Confused, Radriline nodded and entered her tent alone. Riordan was up to something, there was no denying that.

She did not sleep well that night, hounded by the nightmares the rest of the Order was suffering from. Luckily, she had never needed much sleep. Her father was a forester, and throughout her childhood she had loved to follow him into the woods at the earliest hours of the morning. She thought of her aging parents, nestled safely in the foothills of Northern Orlais, and shuddered with relief. Riordan's people were from around Highever; no wonder he was so anxious to return.

"Duncan would have sent us through," she said to herself, staring at the roof of her tent. The whole Order had been shaken by Ostagar; she knew people pitied her for being the last surviving Fereldan Warden. Truth be told, the shame of missing the battle had almost made her sick in the beginning. She had initially comforted herself with the idea that Duncan had sent her to Orlais as a reserve in case things went poorly. Now that they were forbidden access to Ferelden, however…

Something rustled in her tent; she looked up to see Riordan enter it. They stared at each other for a moment. "So what's the plan?" she asked finally.

He grinned and threw two ropes at her feet. "How good are you at climbing?"

* * *

Miles below them, Rowena and Alistair were strolling mindlessly through the Diamond Gardens, dragging Cormac along with them. "It's something gray," Alistair was saying. "And hard."

Rowena sighed. "Is it a rock?"

"Third time you've guessed right," Alistair said, whistling. "Impressive!"

"You keep picking 'rock', Alistair. The game's getting easy."

"Hey, I've got a limited amount of things to choose from here."

They were now walking along a short wall overlooking the rest of the city; Cormac whined and rested his head upon it, looking down on the people passing below.

"I know, Cormy," Rowena sighed, pulling him forward. "We all want to be down there, too, but so long as these bastards have us cooped up top…"

"Hey!" one of their guards said. "Language!"

Rowena glared at her and moved ahead coldly. A whole squadron of guards had been tailing them for three weeks, ever since their ill-fated night at the Provings. According to Rolfdir, while combatants were able to dedicate a victory to their sponsors, dedicating it to themselves was a blatant affront to the dwarven ancestors. Rowena hardly felt that devoting the match to a triumph against the Blight equaled an endorsement of the Grey Wardens; still, it meant that a large portion of the dwarven population was clamoring for their heads. As precaution and punishment, the Assembly had put them under constant surveillance, restricting them to the Diamond Quarter for their safety. After putting up with her guard for so long, however, Rowena almost wished an angry mob would come kill them.

"I can't stand it here anymore," she murmured to Alistair, letting the sleeves of her gown drag over the rubies and sapphires of the stone flowers beneath them. "I think I'm going crazy."

"The house arrest can't last long," he whispered back. "Once the city calms down, they'll let us out."

"That's not what I meant." She sighed and leaned her arms against the observation wall. The magnificent spread of Orzammar now seemed dull and confining. "I miss the sun," she said miserably. "I miss the sky, and the breeze, and grass, and birds…"

He grabbed her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "We'll be out of here in no time, don't worry."

"Alistair!" Leliana called as she ran up to them, her own guard struggling to keep up with her. "Alistair, there's a craftsman in the lobby for you – he says you need to sign something to have your transaction verified by the Shaperate."

"What did you get done?" Rowena asked.

His eyes went a little wide. "Uh…nothing, nothing! I'll just go take care of this!"

"That's not mysterious at all," she said, grinning. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No!" He practically shouted it; flushing, he shook his head. "I'll only be a few minutes – it's not worth the effort. See you soon!" He ran off towards the mansion, his own guard trailing behind him.

"He had your sword sharpened for you," Leliana said, smirking.

Rowena sighed. "Yeah, I figured. It's a good thing he's cute."

Leliana winked. "I bet he's cute in a lot of things."

Rowena scowled. "Like I'd have any way of knowing. I can't even go to sleep alone without a whole squadron of arseholes gawking at me."

"Who knows? You might like being watched." Rowena shot her a look. "Hey, don't knock it till you try it."

"I'll get back to you on that," Rowena said, smiling in spite of herself. "In any case, how's your morning been?"

She shrugged. "I haven't done much. I tried having a lesson in Dwarven, but my tutor couldn't get past the security check. I decided to go for a walk instead."

"Enjoying the weather?" Rowena asked; Leliana rolled her eyes. Suddenly, a shadow loomed over them. They looked over to see Sten shuffling past with his terrified guard, scowling deeply.

"How is he still angry?" Leliana asked. "Is grudge-holding also a part of the Qun?"

"It's all my fault," Rowena said. "I should have let him see that smith when he asked to; with the way things are going now, he's never going to get his sword."

"You had no way of knowing how things would turn out," Leliana said. "You can't see the future."

"I feel very aware of that right now," Rowena said, waving a bee from her face. "The more time we spend here, the more lost and confused I feel. I almost wish we could just take on the entire city and storm through the front gates."

"We can keep that option on the table," Leliana said, scratching Cormac's head. "And don't lose hope! The Maker will guide us through this!"

"In that case, he better start guiding us fast."

"Oh, there you two are," someone said wearily behind them; they turned around to see Eruestan and Wynne approaching from the mansion. "What have you been up to?" Eruestan asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Absolutely nothing," Rowena replied. "How was the Assembly?"

The two mages glanced at each other. "Well, we've learned a lot about the feud between House Oshan and House Meren," Eruestan said. "There's also a curfew set in place throughout the city after midnight; evidently tensions are running high on the streets. As for any useful information, though…"

"If I learned anything in Orlais, it's that no information is useless information," Leliana said. She paused. "Also, that I really don't look good in orange."

"It'd be easier if they'd just let us speak," Wynne said. She looked frail, her eyes ringed by dark bags. "Surely even they could see that it's ridiculous to keep Grey Wardens locked up during a Blight?"

"I don't know – 'ridiculous' hasn't ever stopped them before," Rowena said.

"Watch it, Topsider!" one of the guards snapped.

She was getting close to cracking. "Bite. Me."

"My dear friend, if you are looking to be bitten, you need only ask!" Zevran said, his arm around a young woman. "I am more than willing to relieve you of any tension you might have."

She raised an eyebrow and glanced at his companion. "You seem a little occupied already."

"Ah, yes, how rude of me! My friends, you remember Lanca, of course."

"Hello, Your Excellencies," she said, giggling. "It's so nice to be able to chat with Zevvie's friends."

Rowena thought she was going to gag. "Zevvie?"

Eruestan nudged her in the side. "It's nice to see you again, Lanca," he said politely, extending a hand to her.

She narrowed her eyes while smiling brightly. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

Eruestan's smile became a little forced. "Five times now, Lanca."

"Hm," she sniffed. "I don't recall."

"We should be going," Zevran said quickly, catching Rowena's glare. "We have some business to attend to in my bedchamber."

Lanca slapped his arm gently. "Oh, Zevvie! How naughty!"

They watched him leave in silence. "How can Zevran _stand_ her?" Rowena asked. "She's worse than the Blight!"

"You don't have to be mean for my sake," Eruestan said. "I'm glad they're enjoying themselves."

Everyone stared at him.

"I am!" he said, frowning. "I'm over it! We can be friends again! It's in the past!"

"Someone's getting a little defensive," Leliana murmured.

"I'm not getting defensive!" Eruestan said. "And Zevran has a right to do whatever – and whomever – he wants, ok? I really, really don't mind!"

Rowena paused. "I'm serious, though, she's pretty much an Archdemon."

"At least she's prettier than one," he sighed. "Anyways, I'm going inside; I want to read a little before dinner."

"He's so not over it," Rowena said as he walked back towards the house. The bee buzzed past her face again; she waved it away, annoyed. "He can lie all he wants, no one's going to believe him."

"He does try, though," Wynne said. "And who knows? This might be for the best."

"What do you mean?" Leliana asked.

She hesitated. "Nothing…just that romance can be a little difficult for a Warden. It might be better for him to be unattached."

"I mean, not all Warden relationships are terrible," Rowena said. "So far I'm happy with Alistair."

The mage smiled faintly. "Yes, I suppose that's true."

Rowena frowned. "What do you mean, 'you suppose'?"

"We should go inside, Wynne," Leliana said quickly. "You look tired."

Rowena wanted to find out what exactly Wynne was getting at; however, after looking at her she could tell that Leliana was right. "You've had a long day, you should rest," she agreed. "I'm going to stay out for a little bit."

The two nodded and walked away. Rowena sighed and sat down on a bench, stretching out her legs as she absentmindedly stroked Cormac's hair. The bee was buzzing around her again. "I'm not a flower, get away from me," she muttered. Then she realized that the gems she was sitting next to weren't flowers, either, and that bees didn't live underground.

There was a flash of light and suddenly Morrigan was standing next to her. Cormac barked in surprise; Rowena's guard yelped and stumbled backwards, cracking her head against the ground. "Andraste's tits, Morrigan!" Rowena gasped, jumping up from her seat. The guard was lying unconscious on the ground. "You could have killed her!"

"'Twould almost have been preferable if I had," the witch said in disdain, sitting down on the bench. "We are not animals to be gawked at."

"You were literally a bee about five seconds ago."

She ignored this. "I did not come here to discuss semantics, Rowena. There is something I must talk with you about."

Rowena sat down next to her. "What's the matter?"

"There are two things," Morrigan said slowly. "The first I have been trying to tell you since we arrived here – if it hadn't taken me so long to master this form, I would have been able to find you alone sooner."

Rowena suddenly felt uneasy. "Morrigan, what did you do to your guard?"

She waved her hand. "Never mind that. What I have to tell you has to do with Wynne…"

The more Rowena listened to the witch, the wider her eyes got. "You're sure she's an Abomination?" she whispered as Morrigan finished.

She nodded. "By definition, at least. It is clear that she is drawing energy from an outside source; hence the fainting spells and the strange bursts of power."

Rowena thought back to the leering beasts in the Circle Tower, with their horrible snarls and grimaces. "But she looks so different from the others…"

"Different spirits possess us in different ways," Morrigan replied. "Remember that when the Pride Demon possessed Uldred, he looked the same as he always had."

Rowena drew in her breath. "You think she's being possessed by a Pride Demon?"

Morrigan shrugged. "I cannot say. Eruestan may be able to tell you more; he is more familiar with the different types of possession than I am."

She paused, remembering Eruestan's words back at Redcliffe. "He might already know, actually," she said. "I'll have to ask him about it. Maker's breath, though, Morrigan, do you really think a demon could disguise itself as a human for so long?"

The witch hesitated. "Speaking of which, there is something else I need to discuss—"

Before she could continue, Alistair was running up to them. "Rowena!" he called, smiling. "Oh. Morrigan."

"Hello, Halfwit."

He scowled at her and then looked at the dwarf at their feet. "What happened to her?"

"Don't worry about it. Is everything all right?" Rowena asked.

"Yeah, everything's fine," he said, glaring at Morrigan. "It's just…well, we have a visitor."

Five minutes later they were standing in the mansion's parlor, staring at the dwarven woman who had come to meet them. "We're certainly pleased to have you," Eruestan was saying. "It's been a while since we've had any company. You said your name was Lady…?"

She bowed her head. She was small, even for a dwarf, and her hair was bright red. Most of her face, however, was obscured by a silk veil that was draped beneath her eyes. "I assure Your Excellencies, the pleasure is all mine," she murmured; her accent was perfect, though she spoke stiffly and too formally. "And know that I am no lady, merely a representative of House Aeducan."

Leliana gasped. "I thought I recognized you! You're Prince Bhelen's paramour!"

The woman bowed her head again. "I must beg your pardon. I am indeed Rica Brosca."

Rowena and Eruestan exchanged a look. "Please, have a seat, then," Eruestan said. "And make yourself comfortable; I'm sure someone could take your veil…"

She shook her head. "My veil is not to hide my identity; people of my status are normally affronts to polite society. I wear this covering to be discreet, to not offend anyone with my presence. Please know that I come here not to insult you, but to offer you a proposition."

Eruestan frowned. "What kind of proposition?"

She nodded at him. "Well, to begin with…" She snapped her fingers. Suddenly, all the guards in the room stood up straight and marched out the door. "Though His Majesty's throne is currently contested, He still holds great power in Orzammar," she said, taking a seat. "He could easily get you out of your predicament…provided you give us the assistance we seek."

"Helping Prince Bhelen put us in this situation in the first place," Rowena pointed out.

"And His Majesty regrets that deeply," Rica said hastily. "However, you must realize that your actions in the arena are what brought you here, not any decision on King Bhelen's part – or Lord Harrowmont's, for that matter."

She raised an eyebrow. "I suppose that's one way of looking at it…"

"But discussing the past is useless, Wardens," Rica said. "Do you want out of your house arrest? For if not, I can very easily head back to the palace."

Eruestan sighed. "There's no need for that. What do you want from us?"

"That is better." She hesitated, coughing slightly. "Tell me, what do you know of Dust Town?"

"Very little," Wynne replied, slumped slightly in her chair. "Until three weeks ago we had no idea it even existed."

"Not many people speak of it – especially not here in the Diamond Quarter," Rica said. "There are those that believe that even mentioning the Casteless is an insult to the Ancestors."

"Is there anything that _doesn't_ insult the Ancestors?" Alistair asked. "They must have been pretty irritable people."

Rica laughed gently. "I would not know – as a Casteless myself, I have no Ancestors. For that is what we are: dwarves cut away from the Dwarva. According to the ancient laws of Orzammar, we have no connection to the Stone, the Ancestors, any part of our culture. For all intents and purposes, we do not exist, and neither does Dust Town. No money is spent on us, and no attention is given us. Thus, poverty, disease, and crime are rampant in our part of the city."

"That's terrible!" Leliana cried.

"But it doesn't explain why you need us," Eruestan said. "I don't think there's much we can do to change the caste system."

"That is not why we need you," she replied. "As I said, crime is a part of daily life in Dust Town – the worst comes from the cartas, organized criminals who smuggle lyrium and gold out of Orzammar's mines and sell them on the surface. They are bloodthirsty thugs, absolutely vicious, and they are strangling the life source of the entire city."

"And so you want us to infiltrate them and destroy them," Alistair finished.

"Not quite." She paused. "His Majesty wishes to take the cartas on Himself; He feels it will be part of His legacy in the city's history. However, in the meantime, the cartas have imprisoned someone for months that He would see freed. If you can break into the carta prison, rescue the hostage, and return her to the Royal Palace, King Bhelen can assure you your freedom."

"Can we get this in writing?" Wynne asked.

Rica shook her head. "The very nature of this operation is shrouded in secrecy; no one can know that you are setting out on this mission. Unfortunately, you will have to rely on the King's good word to see your deal done."

"Forgive me, but this seems suspicious," Eruestan said. "Who is this prisoner?"

Though her mouth was covered, Rowena could tell from her eyes that Rica was smiling. "She is Casteless, like me," she said. "She is far cleverer than me, however, and much more resilient. The fact that she has survived this long in their prisons is a testament to that."

"You know her, then?" Zevran asked.

Rica nodded. "Yes."

"Intimately?"

Rica furrowed her eyebrows. "Yes?"

He leaned forward. "How intimately, exactly?"

"Zevran, don't be disgusting," Rowena sighed.

"And in any case, the dwarf in question is my younger sister," Rica said stiffly. "Natia. She worked for the cartas; a few months ago, she drew them much unwanted attention when she illegally entered a Provings and won. She has been locked in a cell ever since."

"And you know she is not dead?" Morrigan asked.

Rica pulled a roll of parchment from her sleeve. "I received this message a few days ago," she said. "It is a ransom note, written in her own handwriting. The mark at the top is a sign from our childhood – we used it to mark places we had hidden toys or food. She had to have been alive when this was written."

Rowena took the note and skimmed it over. Leliana leaned over her shoulder, reading it as well. "This could have been written months ago, though," she said. "Why wait until now to ask for ransom?"

Rica shrugged. "I am not certain. All I know is that there is a possibility that my sister is still alive, and in terrible danger."

"And Prince Bhelen will join our side if she's released?" Rowena asked.

"_King_ Bhelen has promised it," Rica said fiercely. "I have made Him swear by the Stone and by the Ancestors, by every Paragon in Orzammar, by me and the son I carry for him. Do this for us, and His Majesty will follow through."

Rowena liked the sound of passion in her voice; it reminded her of her own brother, and her worries about his safety. "Of course we want to help you, Rica," she said, glancing at Eruestan, "but with all the security surrounding us…"

"That can be taken care of," she said, her voice softening. "As you may know, there is a curfew set in place in the city after midnight. No one will be on the streets; as for the guards, His Majesty will take care of that as well."

"And after that?" Leliana asked. "How are we supposed to find this carta?"

"You will have a guide," Rica said. "Insiders who can show you the way in. Once you're there, they can tell you how to best get to Natia."

"And if they lead us into a trap?" Leliana asked quietly.

"On the honor of House Aeducan, they will not." Rica stood up. "Please, Wardens, I beg you. All I want is to see my sister set free."

There was silence for a moment. "Well, what do we think?" Eruestan asked.

"I would say it sounds foolish, but that has never stopped us before," Morrigan said. "Do as you will, though – criticizing your folly only leads to a headache."

"I'm sorry, but this is way too suspicious," Leliana said. "There's no way we can get involved in something so shady."

"Everything would be, though, in our circumstances," Rowena replied. "The only way any can contact us now is secretively; our hand is being forced."

"Unfortunately, I agree," Wynne said, yawning. "Whether we like it or not, we've put ourselves in a tricky situation."

Sten snorted. "'We'?" Everyone glanced at him; he said nothing else.

"Well, I say yes as well," Alistair said. "Anything to get out of here."

"And so long as we are back at a decent hour, I agree as well," Zevran said. "I will, however, already be having a long, sleepless night, so please, let us be timely."

Eruestan's smile had become strained. "So it's settled, then. We'll help you, Rica."

She bowed for the third time, moving so quickly her veil shook. "Thank you," she said fervently. "A million times, thank you. This debt will never be forgotten." Collecting herself, she drew up straight and readjusted the face covering. "Someone will come fetch you at midnight," she said. "Until then…" She clapped her hands. The guards filed back in. "Good luck, Your Excellencies." She left the room, scarf clutched to her face.

The room was silent for a moment. "This is _such_ a bad idea," Leliana said.

"Not now," Eruestan said quickly, eyeing their guards. "We'll talk about this later. For now, we should all try and rest; we'll need our energy for tonight."

* * *

The rest of the day was quiet, everyone having retreated to their favorite parts of the house. For Eruestan, this was the library, a small room in the back of the house that few other people went to. It was lined with books in a variety of languages and large couches; he greatly preferred it to his own bedroom. His goal for the past few weeks had been to fully understand the dwarven resistance to magic; along the way, he had begun to realize how large a gap there was in his knowledge of Dwarven culture and language. At the moment he was in the middle of a book on the history of Orzammar. "Was there really a two year period where the Servant Caste ruled the city?" he asked his guard in wonder.

The man rolled his eyes, obviously bored. "Does it look like I care?"

"Fair enough." He went back to the book; then, the door opened and Rowena and Cormac walked in.

For a moment he thought he was hallucinating. "You do know that this is a library, right?"

"You're hilarious," she said. "And there's something I need to talk to you about…which means you two" (she pointed to their guards) "need to leave us be."

Her guard frowned; there was a large bandage wrapped around her head. "That's enough private conversations for the day. We have orders from the Assembly to—"

Cormac started to growl softly; Rowena put a hand on his head. "Look, I have been very compliant with your city for a very long time," she said. "But now I'm restless, just like my hound here, and seeing that this little house arrest experiment might be ending soon, I'm getting impatient – and violent. Eruestan, can you tell us who's more vicious, Cormac or me?"

"Honestly? A bit of a toss-up."

The guards looked from the dog's bared teeth to Rowena's glare. "We'll be waiting outside," one of them said quickly.

"Thank you." She sat down next to Eruestan as they left the room, scratching behind Cormac's ears. "So, like I said, I need your opinion on something…"

"If this is about Alistair's rash again, Wynne and I both looked at it, I'm telling you he'll be all right…"

"It's not about that," she said. "Though you do have to admit that it looked pretty bad, right?" He shrugged. "Well, in any case, this is something about Wynne."

Eruestan closed his book and looked at her warily. "What do you mean?"

She sighed. "Look, I don't understand everything Morrigan told me, but the basic idea was that Wynne's an Abomination? Does that even make sense?"

The jig was up. "Yes," he said. "Because she is."

"Oh." She was silent for a moment. "That can't be good."

"It's not," he said. "Not at all, actually. At any moment the spirit sustaining her could completely take over, turning her into a powerful monster that we'd have to kill."

"Maker," Rowena breathed. "So…are we going to do anything about it?"

He shrugged helplessly. "To be honest, I've got no idea. Wynne says she's in control, and I trust her knowledge, but this is unlike anything I've ever heard of before. I'm really starting to worry about her, too - ever since we came underground, she's been getting weaker and weaker. I was waiting to find someone else I could talk to about it before I said anything… You said Morrigan knows, though?"

She nodded. "She figured it out on her own. I don't think she'll tell anyone else – if only because she hates everyone else."

"Small blessings," Eruestan said. "Well, good. I don't want anyone finding out before we decide what to do."

"Find out what?" someone asked; Zevran was standing in the doorway with his guard. "How handsome I am?"

"Damn," Rowena said flatly. "You found us out."

"We're not talking about anything important, Zevran," Eruestan said, aware that his voice suddenly sounded horribly upbeat. "Is there anything you need?"

"In fact, there is." He walked up to the nearest shelf and began browsing it. "Forgive me for interrupting what must be very secretive Grey Warden matters, but I am told that there is a manual here detailing the most scandalous of Dwarven sexual techniques and I must find it."

Some of the excitement left Eruestan's voice. He imagined the assassin in a variety of poses with Lanca, each more outrageous than the last. "Middle bookcase, bottom shelf."

Rowena snorted. "You answered that one really quickly."

To his horror, he could feel his cheeks flush. "I spend a lot of time in here, that's all." They both glanced at him. "Meaning I know where all the books are!" he said quickly. "I'm not…you know…using the book to…I'm not…" His voice trailed off, face completely red.

Both Zevran and Rowena looked like they were struggling to keep from smiling. "Of course," the assassin said, bending down and picking up the book. "In that case, I should let you get back to your…'discussion'…"

"Zevran! What did I say about being disgusting?" Rowena called after him. "And Eruestan, stop blushing so much; you're supposed to be over him, aren't you?"

"Shut up," Eruestan groaned, wishing the chair he was sitting in would swallow him whole. "I _am_ over him, it's just—"

"It's just that you can't stop thinking about him pushing you against a wall, running his hands through your hair and pressing his hot, muscled body against your quivering flesh as you—"

The room had gotten remarkably warmer. "Maker's breath, Rowena!"

She started and looked up at him. "Uh…sorry about that…I think I was projecting a little."

"Rough time with Alistair?"

"It's not even that," she sighed, throwing herself against the couch. "He's so sweet, and things are going really well – it's just physically…" She shrugged. "But did you know he got my sword sharpened for me? He had a smith come to the mansion and everything."

"Stop telling me about how happy your love life is," Eruestan sighed. "Maker's breath, it's a good thing neither of us have to defeat the Blight with sexual prowess. Otherwise the horde'd be at Minrathous by next week."

"They might already be," she said. She sat up and turned to him. "I know I'm repeating myself here, but Eruestan, we _have_ to get out of Orzammar. We've already lost the south to the darkspawn; Maker knows how far they've gotten by now."

"You're right," he said. "But hopefully Bhelen will be true to his word and get us out of here; the more I think about it, though, the more I doubt that's going to happen."

"Rica believed he was telling the truth."

"But Rica won't be the one following through with the deal." He sighed. "I don't think we're walking into a trap – if Bhelen wanted to kill us, he could do it here in the Diamond Quarter. But I doubt he's going to get us freed just for helping out his lover's sister."

"Well, I don't mind," Rowena said. "Even if we get nothing out of it, I'll feel better about helping them out."

"Plus, we might gain some information on the other castes out on the street tonight, if we play our cards right." He glanced at the clock over the mantle; still five hours to go. "I'm going to get some sleep; they'll be coming soon."

"That's not a bad idea." She stood up and turned to leave. "You're sleeping in here?"

He hesitated. "It might be…quieter in here, that's all."

"And far away from Zevran's bedroom?" Both she and her dog squinted at him. "Honestly, Eruestan, are you even fooling yourself?"

"I'm trying," he muttered. She rolled her eyes and left, letting him drift into uncomfortable sleep.

* * *

_She was standing on a cliff, looking down on a churning sea made of darkspawn. In the distance Castle Cousland burned, a searing wound on the landscape. She turned to run, but lightning struck the earth behind and sent her falling into the sea below…_

With a gasp Rowena was awake again. Her room was dark and silent, the only noise Cormac's light snoring beside her. Something was off; for a moment, she didn't realize what. Then it hit her: her guard was gone.

She was out of bed in an instant. She threw on her clothes: an armored shirt, trousers, and a pair of boots. Nudging Cormac awake, she attached her scabbard around her waist and tied back her hair. Already her pulse was quickening; she felt almost giddy to finally be doing something.

The clock chimed twelve. On cue, all the doors in the house opened, everyone else leaving their rooms. For a moment they all stared at each other in silence. "Do you think they're here yet?" Alistair whispered.

"Um, guys?" Eruestan called from downstairs. "She's in the foyer…and it's a little weird."

Curious, Rowena ran down the stairs, only to stop in shock when she saw their guide. "Rica?" she asked. "You're our guide?"

"Indeed," Rica said, bowing. She had gotten rid of her veil, exchanging it for a deep blue set of armor and a hood. "Your Excellencies, I am the person best suited in all of the Diamond Quarter to lead you to my sister. I know this Carta well, and I will be able to get you inside. But Your Excellencies, I must beseech you to hurry. Our window of opportunity is not very long."

They left the house and stepped out onto the street. Rowena immediately felt uneasy. The normally bustling cavern of Orzammar was now deadly silent, a heavy quiet thick in the air. Rica began leading them down the road heading out of the Diamond Quarter; no guards were to be seen.

"How did you call off the City Watch?" Leliana asked. "I don't see any patrols out on the streets."

"They are out there – we are just not supposed to run into them. His Majesty has many friends among the guards," Rica said. "The right connections made – the right coins in the right pockets – and the Watch can be convinced to do many things. So long as we keep to our path away from their patrols, we will have no trouble."

"What happens if we run into them?" Eruestan asked.

"Nothing good," Rica said. "You will be carted off to prison, and I will be beaten and sent back to Dust Town. The Casteless are not supposed to be far from their noble protectors."

"Rica, I'm afraid I don't understand," Wynne said. She was leaning heavily on her staff; Rowena suddenly wondered if they shouldn't have let her stay at home. "All this time I was told that the caste system was designed to give everyone a place in dwarven society – _vseymu svayo myesta_ – but when it comes to the Casteless, that all seems to be flipped on its head. You aren't mentioned in any of the books on Orzammar, and not even the servants will talk about you."

"It would be a disgrace to the Dwarva if they did," Rica said. "Everyone does have a place in the city, and the Casteless are at the very bottom. In everyone else's estimation, we are the descendants of thugs, murderers, and thieves; our very existence is an affront to the Stone and to the Ancestors. Once this mark is branded across our faces, we are dead to the rest of the city."

"You're forced to have those tattoos?" Leliana gasped. "That's horrible!"

"That is Orzammar," Rica said, smiling ruefully. "It is the way this city has been run since its founding."

"But you can't just condemn an entire section of the population because of their birth!" she said. "Even in Orlais the poor have a chance to rise to the top."

"I believe there are many in Orlais who would disagree with you," Zevran said.

"Granted, it's difficult, but it's still possible! Even now an elf is chief lady-in-waiting to the empress!"

"I was told every society has stragglers," Rica said. "That is how they justify it to themselves: if we didn't have the bottom classes, we would all collapse."

"The Qunari don't," Leliana argued. "The Qun says that every person has a role to play, that every life has worth. Isn't that right, Sten?" There was no answer. "Sten?"

They turned around. The Qunari was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's he gone?" Eruestan asked. "Was he attacked?"

Rowena felt her stomach clench. "Rica, are we in the Smith Quarter?"

She nodded. "Why?"

Rowena looked over at Eruestan. "He's gone to find Master Janar."

Rica gasped. "He cannot just wander through the city! If he is caught by anyone, you will all be imprisoned!"

Eruestan swore loudly. "I'm going to go find him."

"No, let me go," Rowena said quickly. "I might be able to talk some sense into him."

He frowned. "No offense, but I'm usually better at talking to people."

"But Sten respects me more," Rowena countered. "You know he'll be more open to what I have to say."

"You think you can even find him?"

"If you can find a vantage point, you can use it to see where he is," Leliana said.

That gave her an idea. "Morrigan, can you still take that bee form?"

"Bee form?" Everyone else asked. There was suddenly a flash of light and a bee was hovering where Morrigan was once standing.

Alistair whistled. "Great – we found a way to make Morrigan even more unpleasant. Oy!" He ducked as the bee dove into his face. "I'd swat you if I wasn't convinced it'd release a demon!"

"Don't joke like that," Rowena said quickly, glancing over at Wynne.

"This is perfect, though!" Leliana said.

"I agree," Zevran said. "The possibilities for this are endless…"

"I don't even want to know what that means, Zevran," Leliana said. "But it's perfect because now she can see the whole city for us!"

"Good point," Rowena said. "Morrigan, fly ahead of me and help me find Sten, and then try to keep an eye on the city for us if you can." The bee flew around in two circles before flying up towards the top of the city.

"How do you think she manages to keep her clothes on when she does that?" Zevran asked.

"Magic works in mysterious ways, Zev," Eruestan sighed. "You should get moving, though – meet us back at the mansion tonight, and good luck!"

She nodded and took off down the nearest alley. Eruestan sighed and watched as she and Cormac disappeared around the corner. "Why does nothing we ever do go to plan?"

They were passing by the tavern now. To Eruestan's surprise, their old friend the drunk dwarf was nowhere to be found. "Huh. I almost miss getting leered at."

"Yes, how will we survive without someone commenting on our bosoms?" Wynne said. "Rica, how far are we from Dust Town?"

"The entrance is in the other end of the city," she said. "We shall have to start taking the back roads, however; the Aeducan Prospect ends before you can reach the neighborhood."

They began their descent past the Proving Arena. The houses here began to get smaller and more crowded, eerily silent under the curfew. Though the grandeur of the Diamond Quarter was gone, the area (which Rica said was the Artisan and Servant Quarters) was still very clean, and several houses bore intricate designs and bright colors. For all its cosiness, he felt ill at ease; he had gotten used to the palaces of the nobility. He wondered what it would be like to have grown up in that part of the city, whether the owners of those pretty houses were happy with their lots in life.

They were approaching a large wall of rock; the Aeducan Prospect seemed to end in the mountain's face. Rica, however, stopped in front of an alley that ended in darkness. "This leads to the entrance to Dust Town – as you can see, not many frequent it."

Eruestan peered warily into the shadows. "Rica, how secure is this alley?"

"Not secure at all," Rica replied. "From this point on you would all be wise to keep a constant watch for any attackers; murder is a common part of daily life in Dust Town, let alone at night."

"Can't wait," Eruestan said, frowning. "Let's get moving."

He walked in first, eyes alert. The first thing he noticed was the stench, a horrible mixture of human waste and decay. Trash and refuse lined the alley; it was as if they had walked into a different city. Eruestan scanned the passageway; it was covered in shadow, providing perfect cover for anyone hoping to attack.

But no attack happened. The alley twisted and turned until it ended at a small wooden door in the middle of a large stone wall. Rica stepped forward and pushed it open. "Welcome to Dust Town, Your Excellencies," she said, walking through. "Try to keep from crying."

* * *

Meanwhile, far above them in the Smith Quarter, Rowena was getting frustrated.

For someone as large as Sten, the Qunari was proving surprisingly difficult to track down. Even with Morrigan's help, she had been circling around the Smith Quarter for a half hour, ducking into alleys and crouching behind corners whenever a patrol passed by. Soon she was hopelessly lost, wandering streets that were all beginning to resemble each other.

There was a flash of light beside him as she turned around a corner. "We've already been down here," Morrigan said, stretching her arms. "We should turn around and head the other way."

"You already said he isn't down there, either," Rowena said, scanning the signs around them. She was starting to wish she had taken up Dwarven; the runes looked like random scratches on the walls. Suddenly, the sound of an approaching patrol forced her back into a dark alley. "Morrigan, down here!" The women crouched in the shadows and peered around the corner, watching the guards march past. "This sword better be worth it, Sten," she muttered.

Suddenly he heard a rustling behind him. "Who's there?" she asked sharply. The rustling stopped abruptly. Frowning, Morrigan flicked her hands and sent an orb of light flooding down the alley, ready to confront whatever was waiting to assault them. Instead, the light revealed Sten crouching by a side door. "Sten?"

The Qunari sighed as the spell ended and went back to working on the door's lock. "I didn't think you'd find me."

"Well, sorry to disappoint." Rowena walked up to him, eyes adjusting to the dark. "Sten, what are you doing?"

"Is that a trick question?"

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "And so it begins."

"How do you even know this is Master Janar's shop, Sten?"

"The sign said so," Sten said, pressing his ear against the door.

"You can read Dwarven?"

"Tell me, Rowena, do you know the meaning of the phrase 'Kapa çeneni, budala?'"

"No."

"It means, 'shut up, fool.' I suggest you memorize it."

Morrigan laughed. "I should start learning Qunari."

"Don't encourage him, Morrigan." Sten shrugged and went back to his work. "Sten, honestly, what's your plan here?"

"'Salak and 'aptal' are both synonyms for 'idiot' as well."

"That's enough with the language lessons, Sten!" Rowena snapped. "And have you lost your mind? You of all people should know how foolish this is! You think you'll get your sword back if you're rotting in some Dwarven prison? What do you think you're doing?"

"No, what are _you_ doing?" He stood up so abruptly it took Rowena's breath away, eyes flashing in his face. "I said I would help you against the Blight, not in stumbling blind across the country. For months I have watched you mill about with no purpose, choosing battles at hazard and winning only from dumb luck. You scoured the corners of Ferelden for a myth, when a wise man would have let the arl die. You released a dangerous mage into the world – and yes, I know it was you – based off of personal affection. And now you have allowed yourselves to be trapped in a city of fools far removed from the Blight. This whole time, I have been silent. Now, however, with my sword within reach and your incompetence growing daily, I can hold my tongue no longer. I am going to find Master Janar, I am going to find Asala, and I am going to leave you all to whatever mistake you're about to commit next."

Rowena was at a loss for words; Sten's gaze was too intense. "Well, that's…that's really…dumb."

"Scathing."

"So you think you can just leave us if you disagree with our decisions? Are the Beresaad allowed to do that?"

"The Beresaad are subject to the Qun, and nothing else – especially not someone else's idiocy." He turned back to the lock. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to find my sword."

"He does have a point," Morrigan murmured.

Rowena glared at her, trying to think of an angle that would work. "Well, I mean, what do you think's going to happen? You know the dwarves aren't going to let you leave, even if you find your sword."

"Orzammar is in negociations with the Grey Wardens," he said, clicking through the lock. "If I'm no longer with the Grey Wardens, there will be nothing keeping me here." He stood up once more. "And if that doesn't work…the Beresaad always find a way."

She scowled. "And if someone catches you in there?"

"No one will catch me in there," Sten said calmly, opening the door. "The forge is quiet, and I can hear someone snoring. I will sneak into the workshop, take what is mine, and be out before anyone can…"

He stopped suddenly, frozen in the doorsill. Rowena immediately saw why: sitting in front of them in the back room was a small dwarven girl, jaw wide open.

* * *

Down in Dust Town, Eruestan felt like he was going to be sick.

Everywhere he looked was poverty and destitution. Being only a few feet above the lava pool, the air in the quarter was scalding hot, making her sweat and flushing her skin. The buildings surrounding them were dilapidated and piled precariously on top of each other; they all seemed ready to collapse on themselves.

The worse parts of Dust Town, however, were its inhabitants. They were all on the street, covered in filth, either unaffected by the curfew or completely ambivalent towards it. Men, women, and children stared listlessly at her, faces emaciated and marred with the same tattoo Rica had. A man lay face down in the muck in front of him. To his horror, he quickly realized that he was dead.

"Leave him," Rica murmured as she bent down to turn him over. "There are plenty others like him."

"This is terrible," he murmured to Leliana, face pale. "I thought I remembered the worst of the Denerim Alienage, but this…these people are starving right in front of us."

"The Elven Alienage in Val Royeaux isn't much better," the bard said grimly. "But I'm concerned about how many people are seeing us. Someone's bound to tell the cartas we're coming."

"We do not need to worry about that," Rica said. "Follow me; the entrance is down this street."

Before he could move, someone tugged on Eruestan's arm. He looked down to see a tiny child staring up at him pleadingly, ribs sticking out through ragged clothes. His heart panged; the boy's tattoo stretched across his face. "Maker, please, take whatever you need – do you want gold? Food?" The child stared at him blankly; suddenly, someone cuffed him and threw him aside.

"_Ubirais'ya!_" Rica shouted, shaking her fist. The child scurried to the nearest alley, disappearing into the darkness. "Miserable wretches!"

For a moment Eruestan was so angry he could hardly speak. "I was going to help him!"

"And he was going to rob you," Rica said. "You cannot see it, but there are thirty pairs of eyes on you right now, waiting to see if you have anything to give. Had you shown a single sign of affluence or generosity, a whole horde would have descended on you. Believe me – I used to be one of them."

Something shuffled in the shadows; Eruestan suddenly felt very uneasy. "Let's…just move on. This place is heartbreaking."

"How did you ever pull yourself out of here, Rica?" Wynne asked in wonder. "I've never seen such abject poverty."

The dwarf glanced over at her and smiled shyly. "I was fortunate enough to get a sponsor for my education. I was fed well, given clean clothes, taught history, Fereldan, Orlesian, dancing, music, anything that could help me catch the eye of a nobleman. At that point, whoever paid the highest would have a right to me."

Alistair frowned. "Things like that shouldn't have to happen."

She shrugged. "Perhaps not – but many terrible things happen in Dust Town, and this was better than any of my alternatives. My sponsor did well by me, and protected my family, too."

"And who was this sponsor?" Zevran asked. "Some nobleman looking to exploit the poor?"

"Not quite," Rica said. "It was Beraht, the former leader of this carta."

"Oh!" Eruestan said, surprised. "Your sponsor imprisoned your sister?"

"Not quite," Rica said, leading them around a corner. "Natia killed him first."

"This is getting ridiculous," Eruestan muttered to Alistair.

The knight didn't smile. "This is sickening. People should be doing something about this – these poor people…"

"A good king would do something," Wynne said. "A society is only as strong as its poorest citizens."

"But who would be the good king?" Alistair murmured; Eruestan glanced at him and shrugged helplessly.

Rica had led them into an alley; a woman was huddled on a stoop, swaying back and forth and muttering to herself. "The entrance to the carta is down this alley," she said, hurrying past the beggar. "They will already know you are coming; we will have to move quickly."

"How can we fight against them if they know we're here?" Leliana hissed. "We could be ambushed right here!"

Rica shook her head. "After all those years working with the cartas, I know how they work. They know they would not stand a chance against properly trained warriors; they disappear into the tunnels at the back of their base at the first sign of trouble. By now the base should be empty, and the path to Natia should be clear."

"Oh!" Eruestan said. "So we won't be fighting anyone?"

"You could have let us known that, my friend," Zevran said, eyebrow raised.

The dwarf shook her head. "If I had told you the whole plan, someone might have heard us, and they would have considered resisting us. This way is simpler, even if more duplicitous."

There was no time to bemoan the deceptiveness of Dwarven society any further. Eruestan merely shook his head and followed Rica down the alley. The dwarf led them to a small door at the side of a small, ruined house. "This is it," she murmured, pushing the door open. Eruestan felt a trill of excitement as he entered the building, half expecting to enter into a pirate's den. To his surprise, however, they walked into a small, empty sitting room.

"Our Carta seems to operate on a much smaller scale than I was anticipating," Zevran said. "Not to mention that they have terrible taste in furniture."

"They do," Leliana agreed. "But something tells me that this is either a fairly clever front or a fairly stupid trap."

Rica smiled softly. "No need to worry, Your Excellency." Walking over to the far wall, she ran her hands along the stone and, finding the right spot, pressed hard, pushing open the wall and revealing a large passageway that twisted away into darkness.

"Cool," Alistair breathed.

Rica smiled, but stood in the entrance, eyebrows furrowed. "Just one moment…I need to figure out where we are going…"

"Do you need us to find you a map?"

She shook her head. "No, the Stone will tell me – I just need to determine what it is saying."

This took a moment for everyone to process. "Has she lost her mind?" Alistair whispered.

Wynne shook her head. "No, I think she must be talking about her Stone sense – is that right, Rica?" She nodded, eyes closed in concentration.

"Stone sense?" Leliana asked.

"I don't know much about it myself," Wynne admitted. "Like all the other races, the dwarves are very secretive with their knowledge, and most people assume Stone sense is just a myth. In essence, though, most dwarves are able to see through stone, in a way – it was what enabled them to build and traverse the Deep Roads."

"And it is what will help us find the prison from here," Rica said, shaking her head. "There is a tunnel that curves off from the main passage – if we follow it, Natia should be at the end."

They followed her into the passage, backs hunched as they made their way through the short tunnel. The stone was cool; after the heat of Dust Town, Eruestan was glad for the reprieve. So far it seemed Rica had been right: the tunnels were empty.

Rica stopped in front of another passage. "This way," she said, running down it. "We're getting close!"

The second tunnel was smaller – the air reeked, the stench so heavy Eruestan could hardly breathe. A light was flickering down at the end; they turned around the corner to find themselves in a large, circular room lined with cells. Most were empty; the last one, however, held a young Dwarven woman, arms hung above her as she dangled from chains attached to the wall.

"Natia!" Rica cried, running up to her. Eruestan followed, face pale. Natia was emaciated, her ribs showing through the tears in her rags. Bruises, burns, and cuts lined her body; she had obviously been tortured.

"Natia!" Rica shouted, shaking the cage door. "Natia! Can you hear me? _Slushaesh'?_ Please, someone, open these locks!"

Leliana ran forward; Natia began to stir. "Rica?" she groaned, too weak to raise her head. "About damn time you showed up."

"_Oy, Natya, prasti menya, _I wanted to come sooner," Rica said as Leliana opened the door. "It took me too long to get everything organized…but who did this to you?"

The corners of her sister's mouth began to twitch, as if she was trying to smile. "That bitch Jarvia – she always did hate that I'm prettier than her. Or, at least, I _was_ prettier than her." Zevran and Leliana finished working on her chains; she collapsed into her sister's arms. Sighing deeply, she lifted her head feebly and glanced at Rica's companions. "Topsiders, huh? Did you have to sleep with them, too?"

"If only, if only…"

"They are _Grey Wardens,_ Natia, and no, I did not sleep with any of them," Rica said, glaring at Zevran. "Forgive my sister her crude humor, Your Excellencies."

"Grey Wardens?" She scoffed. "If you're looking for the horde, Wardens, you're in the wrong place. Not even darkspawn will come to Dust Town."

"We'll have to keep looking somewhere else, then," Eruestan said. "Wynne, do you think you could heal her?"

The mage shook her head. "For my magic to work on a dwarf, we'd need more lyrium than the cartas could get topside in a month."

"It is all right, we can find someone to heal her in the city," Rica said. "All we need to do now is get out of here before they all come back—"

"Oh, I'm sorry, are we too early?" someone asked behind them. "We can come back later if you want us to."

Eruestan turned around. A square-jawed woman was standing at the prison entrance surrounded by a squadron of armed carta members.

Natia looked up and sighed. "Jarvia. Fucking bitch."

"Ah, there's that Brosca wit." Jarvia crossed the threshold, careful to stay behind her guards. "You know, it's that kind of charm that got us interested in your family in the first place. A pity, then, that we've heard so little from you since you've left us, Rica."

"What do you want, Jarvia?" Rica asked, cradling her sister's head. "I thought you would be in a hole three miles under the city by now."

"Why, because you thought we'd be afraid of your prince coming to kill us?" She laughed, her men following suit. "Don't flatter yourselves. We know a nobleman would never send an army down here to wipe out the carta. We'd be gone the instant he crossed through Dust Town, and they'd be left holding their dicks in their hands. But with you, however…" She crossed the room; Eruestan flexed his hands instinctively. "Ever since we threw your whore of a sister in this prison, we've been waiting for you to come down here and rescue her. And here you are!" Jarvia smiled, a grimace that made Eruestan uncomfortable. "You fell into our trap, and now we're here to make sure you pay us everything you owe."

"King Bhelen paid you back in full, and you know it," Rica said. "My debts are forgiven."

Jarvia shook her head. "Oh, Rica, you dumb, stupid little _suka_. Girls like you aren't supposed to snag _princes_. A besotted merchant, maybe, or a minor noble's idiot son, but never a future king. Once you aim that high, your debts are never paid."

"You're forgetting something here, Jarvia," Eruestan said, stepping forward. "Rica and Natia have the Grey Wardens' protection."

Jarvia smiled at her. "Oh, believe me, Warden, I haven't forgotten you in the least. A boy as pretty as you will fetch a hefty sum in the slave markets of Minrathous – the rest of your friends, too, once we beat that insolence out of you."

"Sell the elves to the Tevinters?" Zevran muttered. "Original."

Eruestan narrowed his eyes. "No one's getting sold to anyone, Zevran. She doesn't know what she's dealing with."

Jarvia smiled and stepped back among her men. "I was worried you would want to fight. Go ahead Wardens, test your luck. For every man you kill, I have two to replace them – you'll be worn out before you even taste a tenth of my armies."

Eruestan summoned a ball of lightning, more for his own sense of security than anything else. Everyone else in the room drew their weapons as well. For a moment, both sides glared coldly at each other; then, out of nowhere, the sounds of marching feet grew louder in the background.

Jarvia turned around and frowned. "What in the Stone is going on out there?"

Someone was running toward them; a moment later, a man burst into the room. "Jarvia, get to the back exit!" he yelled. "Everyone's already gotten out, the City Guard is—"

A spear jutted through his chest; seconds later, the room was full of guards, thrusting their spears into the members of the carta. Jarvia fell in an instant, blood splattering onto the floor. Before Eruestan could react, the guards had them surrounded, spears pointed at their chests.

"S-stop this at once!" Rica said, voice faltering. "I represent the king…"

The room fell silent; someone in the back was clapping. "There you are, my sweet," Prince Bhelen said, shaking his head. "I'm so glad we found you – I'm absolutely outraged that this happened."

"What's going on, Your Highness?" Eruestan snapped.

"What do you think?" the prince smirked. "The Wardens and the Carta, working together on a kidnapping case? Looks like treason to me."

* * *

Meanwhile, Rowena, Morrigan, and Sten were both staring slack-jawed at the girl in front of them.

Sten was the first to regain his senses. "Kill it."

"Right, because murdering a child will make us _so_ popular with the city," Rowena hissed. "She probably has no idea who we are, let's just leave."

"I know who you are," the girl said quickly. "You're the Grey Wardens."

"Oh." Rowena sighed. "Shit."

"No more wasting time," Sten snarled. "Plunge a knife in her heart and let's find my sword."

"Actually, if you cut my jugular, it'll be a lot easier for you and less painful for me," the girl said. Sten and Rowena stared at her. "Sorry," she said, blushing. "I've just read a lot about anatomy. And knives. A lot about everything, really."

Morrigan sighed. "And she's talkative as well. Lovely."

"You don't have to worry about me," the girl said. "I'm Dagna, by the way – Master Janar's daughter. Papa doesn't like it when I'm up this late; if I tell anyone I saw you, I'll get in as much trouble as you will."

Rowena smiled. "Somehow I doubt that."

She shrugged. "Hey, everything's relative."

"If we aren't going to silence the girl, let's just find my sword and leave," Sten said. "I have little patience for this."

"That was _your_ sword?" Dagna was on him in an instant. "Oh, I have so many questions for you! Did you make it yourself? Are you able to carry it? How fast can you swing it? Did you need magic to use it?"

Morrigan glanced over at Rowena. "Something tells me Eruestan was this annoying as a child, too."

Rowena smirked and then turned back to the girl. "Dagna, can you promise to keep this a secret?"

"Can you do magic?"

The question took her aback. "Uh…no, I can't. Morrigan can, though…"

It was the witch's turn to be assaulted. "By the Stone, you have to tell me _everything_! What does it feel like to cast? How long have you studied? Can you turn that table into a nug? Does it hurt? Have you ever met a demon? Are you a demon?"

"This is ridiculous," Sten said. "Is my sword here or not?"

"Oh, it left here months ago," Dagna said, shrugging.

"_What_?"

"What? The man that was selling it was asking way too much – Papa was only able to rent it for a night to take sketches."

"Well, where did she go?" Sten spluttered. "Did he say?"

"Denerim, I think. He thought he might have a buyer there – some weapons merchant who pays well." She shook her head. "I don't know what all the fuss was about – it wasn't even properly made. Way too heavy, something only a Topsider would want to use."

Sten was getting more animated that Rowena had ever seen him. "You—you have no idea! That sword—Asala is the height of Qunari engineering!"

"Calm down, Sten," Rowena said. "Dagna, do you know where this man was going to sell the sword? The merchant's name, maybe?"

She frowned. "Something strange…Wayne? Wade? I'm not sure. I think he's a pretty famous merchant in the Denerim market."

Sten stared at her for a moment, and then, to everyone's surprise, collapsed to the floor. "I'm a disgrace," he said dully. "I betrayed everyone to chase hearsay and rumor, all for nothing." He glanced up at Rowena. "At least when you acted like idiots, you turned out to be right in the end."

"Thanks for that, Sten," Rowena sighed. She looked down at the Qunari and bit her lip. For all his faults , he just looked too crushed to still be angry at him. "Look, Sten, it's all right," she said, crouching down next to him. "We should have let you come here from the beginning."

He shook his head. "I should have never disobeyed you."

"You did what you thought was right for you," she said. "You made a lot of good points, Sten – Eruestan and I have made a lot of decisions that even we're not fully comfortable with, and we've neglected a lot of people's needs in the process. We have to recognize that."

The Qunari stared at her. "So you're not going to kick me out?"

Rowena blinked. "No, Sten, of course not."

He shook his head in wonder. "I have lost my honor once before, Rowena. Tonight I almost lost it again. I assure you, it will never happen again."

"Don't worry about it, Sten. Now come on, we need to get moving…"

"Not so fast, Warden," Dagna said quickly. They turned around to stare at her; she blushed slightly. "Sorry…it's just, I know you're traveling with mages, and I've never met a mage before, and I've been really interested in magic for so long, and…well, I was just wondering…would I be able to study at the Circle in Ferelden?"

"Kids," Sten muttered.

For a second, she didn't know how to respond. "Er…Dagna, I'm no expert, but I don't think dwarves can even do magic."

"Oh, please, I'm not an idiot," Dagna said. "I'm not trying to do magic – I just want to study it. I've read every book Orzammar has on it, but that'd be nothing on what I could find at a Circle – would you be able to help me?

Rowena shrugged. "I honestly couldn't tell you, but if you come to the Diamond Quarter tomorrow, you can talk to Eruestan. He's got a lot of friends at the Tower, they might be able to help you."

"That'd be great!" Dagna beamed at her. "But you should go – if anyone catches you, we'll never be able to talk."

"And the Blight would swallow all of the world," Morrigan said, frowning.

She shrugged again. "Yeah, sure, whatever. Just don't get arrested. It was nice meeting you!" With that, she returned to her book by the fire, not bothering to watch them as they left.

The three companions turned around to leave the store. "If anything, I've learned one thing from tonight," Sten said, opening the door. "If Asala's waiting for me in Denerim, I will have to wait until the Landsmeet to be reunited with her."

"Provided we even make it to the Landsmeet," Rowena sighed, stepping out into the alley. "Let's just get back to the mansion and hope that everyone returns as fast as—do you hear something?"

In the quiet of the empty city, there was a clamor rising, the sound of one hundred suits of armor marching. "There's trouble," Sten said, furrowing his brow. "We need to get back right now."

They raced through the streets of the quarter, Sten leading the way through the alleys. All of a sudden the Qunari stopped on a bridge looking over the city. "What are we doing?" Rowena asked. "Where are we?"

"Look," Sten said grimly.

She followed his gaze and paled. Far down below, Eruestan and the others were being pushed along the Aeducan Prospect at spearpoint, hands tied behind their backs.

* * *

_Hi everyone! A lot has happened since my last chapter - I finished my undergrad dissertation, I graduated, I moved, etc. I'm so sorry I let this fall way behind! Now that everything's settled, I hope to have a lot more time to dedicate here. I'd just like to thank and mille libri for their lovely reviews, which were much-needed pick-me-ups during my last mad scramble to graduate! Feel free to review! _


	34. The Sober Mind and The Drunk Tongue

_Really quick: when writing this chapter I decided to make a fairly significant change to the last one! Really sorry about that - irresponsible story-telling on my end, but I really feel that this decision makes more sense! _

* * *

"So basically what you're saying is that we're even more arrested than we were before?"

Eruestan sighed. "No, _we're_ more arrested, because we were the ones who got caught. You're fine – for now." He shrugged helplessly. "Look, Bhelen played us, ok? He set us up with the cartas and he was able to trap us with the whole damn Orzammar guard. It's really not that complicated."

Rowena scowled and rubbed her forehead. The Orzammar prisons consisted of one small visiting area looking in on a giant cell for the prisoners; she really wished she had a bench. She, Sten, and Morrigan had spent most of the night before avoiding the City Guard to make it back to their mansion. The rest of their time had been spent convincing Dwarven officials that they had only been taking a late night walk through the Diamond Quarter, and that they had had no idea what the others were up to. Miraculously, they had managed to keep themselves out of prison; the same didn't apply to their companions. "I still don't understand – why would Bhelen do this? Why not just arrest us the minute we stepped out of the Diamond Quarter?"

"It's very clever on His Highness's part, actually," Rolfdir said. The dwarf had escorted them to the prison that morning, accompanied by a guard of twenty soldiers. "If you were just caught breaking house arrest with his mistress, it would have reflected poorly on him. This way, though, you've both rescued her sister, making her happy, and given him a way to tell the city that he found the Wardens dealing with the cartas, making him happy. Not only does he get rid of potentially dangerous political dignitaries, but he can also use this to garner much more support in the Assembly."

"He'll need more than support to get away from us," Rowena growled; Cormac barked at her side in emphasis. "Once I'm through with him, House Aeducan will just be a footnote in Orzammar's history."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Rolfdir said. "Now the whole city is against you – I heard there was a mob just outside this morning clamoring for your heads."

"We know," Alistair said dully. "We were here."

"I suppose it's a good thing you're famous, though," the dwarf said. " Lord Harrowmont himself came down here to break the mobs up, said we didn't want Grey Warden blood spilled on our Stone."

"We know," Alistair repeated. "We were here."

"Keep your damn voices down," someone snarled from the back. "It feels like I have a damn bronto rutting on my head."

"Is someone else in there?" Rowena asked, trying to look further into the darkness.

"Physically, not mentally," Leliana said, cradling Wynne's head in her lap; the mage looked very pale. "He's managed to stay drunk for the past eleven hours."

Rolfdir frowned. "My apologies, Your Excellencies; I didn't realize Oghren would be in your cell."

"He has a name?" Alistair said in surprise. "Huh. I've just been calling him 'Stinky McDrunkard.'"

"You and the rest of the city, I assure you."

Eruestan frowned. "Oghren…why do I recognize that name, Rolfdir?"

The voice belched. "Because I'm a friggin' legend, you twinkler," it said, shuffling forward; Rowena started when he saw that it belonged to the drunk dwarf from outside of Tapsters.

"A legendary failure, Boyar Oghren," Rolfdir corrected; the dwarf shrugged and started peeing in a corner. "Believe it or not, the boyar was once the darling of the Warrior Caste – he had a sterling reputation in the Proving Arena, he was prolific on the field, and, most importantly, he was married to Paragon Branka."

Eruestan gasped. "The woman who led the expedition into the Deep Roads?"

"Exactly. As you see, though, Paragon Branka left him here, showing the whole city who he really is: a drunk, crude fool who isn't worth the cost of keeping him in a cell."

"Ha! You think that's bad? I've heard worse from my mother," Oghren said, pulling up his pants. "Speaking of her – Firecrotch, how's about you grab Yellow Eyes, Big Tits, and Firecrotch Number Two and we can go have a party in the back of this cell?"

Rowena stared at him in horror. "Why, _why_ would your mother remind you of _that_?"

"And, I'm sorry, but _Firecrotch Number Two_?" Leliana said, sitting up sharply. "All I get is _Firecrotch Number Two_?"

"Something tells me he's not going for eloquence, Leliana," Wynne said wearily. "And at least you're not 'Big Tits'."

"And at least you got invited!" Zevran said, frowning. "I am just as pretty as any of them, my revolting, cheese-smelling friend."

Oghren looked confused. "But…you don't have tits?"

"This is what I am reduced to," Zevran sighed, slumping against the cell wall.

Leliana wasn't finished. "_Firecrotch Number Two?_ I have seduced some of the most powerful people in Thedas! I can do a little better than _Firecrotch Number Two_!"

"Everyone, come on!" Rowena said. Everyone started and glanced over at her, embarrassed. "I still don't know what this means for us. Rolfdir, what can we do?"

The dwarf shrugged. "I'm sorry, Your Excellencies, but this is very, very dire. Acting against the good of Orzammar is a crime punishable by death. You all could very well be thrown into the lava pit or condemned to the Deep Roads."

Alistair frowned. "The Deep Roads?"

Rowena snorted. "That sounds ridiculous."

"No, that sounds really concerning," Eruestan said, eyes wide. "When could the Assembly make that decision by?"

"It wouldn't be the Assembly," Rolfdir said, shaking his head. "This would be the in the next king's jurisdiction. Judgment will wait until after the Assembly's decision for the throne."

"Oh," Alistair said. "So never, then."

"But Rolfdir, who would possibly believe that we could have any dealings with the cartas?" Rowena asked. "Anyone can see that we were set up."

"Unfortunately, that means very little to the Assembly," Rolfdir said. "What matters is that you were caught, and now I'm afraid you're stuck here."

"There must be someone we can talk to," Eruestan said. "We could petition the nobility…"

Rolfdir shook his head. "No one would have you. Receiving traitors to the Dwarva would be enough to ruin the reputations of any family in Orzammar."

"But we're Grey Wardens!" Eruestan protested.

Rolfdir shrugged. "Those are the rules. Lady Rowena could, of course, petition to have her name individually cleared by the Committee on Social Ostracism..."

Rowena pinched her nose. "Let me guess – I have to wait for the new king to be selected to be able to meet them."

Rolfdir nodded. "I won't lie to you, that may take longer than I originally said. Now that word's spread about what happened last night, the lower castes are rallying around Bhelen. As a result, the nobility and the warriors are declaring themselves for Harrowmont. We'll be tearing ourselves apart before long."

"Good riddance," Sten muttered.

"Well, I can at least give the nobles a try," Rowena said. "If they're as against Bhelen as you say they are, they might be willing to overlook protocol to ally against him."

"I wouldn't count on it," Rolfdir said. "Though you can try if you wish."

"So that's the plan, then?" Eruestan asked. "Throwing ourselves at the feet of nobles?"

"Unless you all want to fight our way out of the Deep Roads." She hesitated. "Well, on second thought..."

"Let's not joke about that, ok?" Alistair snapped; she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Just make sure anything you agree upon gets signed," Wynne said, leaning back down against Leliana's lap. "We can't afford to lose any more time to backdoor politics."

"I will, Wynne." She paused, noticing how pale her skin was. "Do you want me to bring you anything back?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine, thank you."

"A little ale wouldn't kill me," Oghren called from the back.

"I'm not sure about that," Eruestan muttered. "And be careful, Rowena – we need you to stay out of here."

"Don't worry about me," she said, turning to leave. "Rolfdir and I will get us some support, you'll see."

Four hours later she was shuffling back to the mansion in defeat. "I can't believe it," she said over the sound of their accompanying guard. "We tried 47 families, and almost all of them turned us away."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Rolfdir said, shrugging. "Though I am surprised Lady Dace gave you an audience."

Morrigan scoffed as they passed into the foyer. "She only did it because she thought we were trying to peddle Rowena's mutt to her."

"Which might be useful at some point, we are running out of money." Cormac whined at her side. "Oh, I'm only joking, Cormy, there's no need to make that face." They entered the house, their guards stopping at the entrance with their spears drawn. A servant ran up to them. "Yes?"

"You have visitors, Your Excellencies," the dwarf said, bowing. He hesitated. "There's one that I tried to have kicked out, but she proved…resistant…"

Rowena frowned. "This can't be good."

The servant led them into the parlor, where Rowena found the last people she was expecting. Waiting for her in opposite corners of the room were Dagna, Lanca, and a young Casteless woman she didn't recognize.

Rolfdir immediately went stiff. "Your Excellencies, my presence is not appropriate. There is an offensive creature here."

"Like I care what a perfumed pretty boy like you thinks of me," the Casteless woman snapped. "I don't even know what I'm still doing here…"

"Yes, I was wondering the same thing," Lanca said, holding a handkerchief to her face. "Why don't you go pollute the air somewhere else – the Deep Roads, perhaps?"

"You didn't seem so offended when you were schmoozing up to my sister this morning," the woman shot back.

Lanca smirked. "Trust me, when _you_ start sleeping with the future king, my attitude will change."

Rowena frowned as she realized who the woman was. "You're Natia Brosca."

"And you're just some Topsider firecrotch," she said, straightening her back. "What do you care?"

Rowena turned to Sten and Morrigan. "Why are people calling me a 'firecrotch' all of a sudden?"

Sten grunted. "Small minds rely on visual cues to keep them going."

"Your Excellencies, I really must leave the room," Rolfdir said. "Any longer and my honor will be besmirched."

Natia shook her head. "This is unbelievable – I'm out of here…"

"No, don't leave," Rowena said quickly; she wanted a word with her. "Rolfdir, please be kind to our guests."

The dwarf looked affronted. "But, Your Excellency, she's…_Casteless_…"

"Yeah, no shit!"

"Everyone, please!" Rowena said. "That's enough, Rolfdir – you can go into the dining room if you'd be more comfortable."

"Thank you," he said stiffly. "Young ladies, would you care to join me?"

"I've been here long enough already," Lanca said coolly. "I think my reputation can handle a few more minutes."

Dagna shook her head vigorously, eyes wide. "Are you kidding me? I've never met a Casteless before! I have so many questions!"

The young woman leapt to her feet. "That's it!"

"No, please, let's just all calm down!" Rowena said as Rolfdir left the room. Natia hesitated at the door. "Please, just have a seat. We can get this all sorted." Frowning, she nodded slowly and took a seat. Rowena, Morrigan, and Sten all sat on the couch facing them. "I'll admit that I wasn't exactly expecting to see the three of you in here today…"

"Well, I'm not planning on staying too long," Lanca said. "I've only come to tell you that I can no longer be seen with Zevran."

"Oh!" It was out of left field; Rowena almost laughed. "Why…why is that?"

She raised an eyebrow. "There's a bit of gentility in house arrest – none in prison, though."

"You seem really beat up about this," Rowena said drily. "What happened to 'Zevvie'?"

Lanca rolled her eyes. "Please – men love hearing things like that, makes them think you're losing your mind for them. In the end, though, he's just a pretty face with a hot accent – fun, but not worth ruining myself for. Just give him the message from me – I am _not_ going down to the prison on my own. And speaking of which…" She glanced over at Natia and sniffed. "The air's growing foul here; I'll take my leave of you, Your Excellencies."

Rowena shook her head as she left. "I don't want to be the one to tell Zevran."

"I doubt he shall care," Morrigan murmured. "As for Eruestan…he'll look like my mother finding a Templar lost in the Wilds."

Rowena snorted. "Maker, I can't wait."

"Look, I don't know what's going on here, but I didn't come here to be shat upon by half the arseholes in the Diamond Quarter just to hear you banter back and forth to each other," Natia snapped.

"So why did you come?" Morrigan asked coolly. "Hoping to catch us in another trap?"

"It wasn't a trap," Natia said hotly. "Rica had no idea the prince was going behind her back."

"That seems awfully convenient," Rowena said, crossing her arms.

"Just shut up and listen!" Natia was getting worked up; she jumped from the couch and began pacing the room. "My sister is mortified at what happened, and right now she's terrified about what you're going to do. And look, I get it, ok? You're pissed, but Rica was only trying to help me, you understand that? Dust Town may be filled with trash, and this whole city may be going balls up, but Rica is not a backstabber, ok?"

"What does this matter, Natia?" Rowena asked.

She glared at her. "It matters because I need to fucking know if you're going to pull some shit when all this settles! My sister and I have each other's fucking backs, ok, and if you shit-faced dumbass fuckers are going to fuck with her or her baby, I need to fucking know, ok?"

Dagna looked breathless. "Whoa…I've never heard so many swears in one sentence before."

Rowena wasn't sure if she had, either. "Natia, please, there's no need for this. We're not interested in revenge."

"Oh!" She stared at her for a moment, and then sat down again. "Really?"

"Really," she sighed. "Even if we wanted to, we're not in any position to do anything. Half of us are locked up, and I don't see that ending any time soon."

"No thanks to your sister, incidentally," Morrigan said.

"I don't trust that one," Natia said, eyes narrowed.

"Not many people do," Rowena replied. "But you have my word, Natia – you don't have to worry about us."

"I'm going to hold you to that, Warden," she said, scowling. She nestled back in her chair. "Now can I get something to eat?"

Rowena smirked and nodded at one of the servants, who left for the kitchens. "So, Dagna, I take it you're not here asking for protection for your family."

"I'm here for magic," she said, still staring at Natia. "You told me to come up here so you could send me to the Circle."

"Right…" She hesitated. "To be honest, I was originally expecting Eruestan and Wynne to be here this morning. They're good friends with the First Enchanter – I'm sure they could get you in."

"Oh, _zdorava_!" she said, finally turning to her. "That's amazing! Should I write a letter to this First Enchanter? Will I need money? When can I go?"

She smiled ruefully at her. "There's a problem. While we're trapped here, I can't get any word out."

"Oh! That's dumb," she said, frowning.

"That's Orzammar," Natia muttered, grabbing grapes off the tray the servant had brought back.

"Well, what's keeping you here?" Dagna persisted, sitting forward. "Why can't you just get out?"

"We have to wait for the new king to be chosen," she said. "Until that happens, our friends can't be tried, and no one will meet with us to discuss the terms of our treaty."

"Not much you can do there," Natia said. "Nobles love sitting around with their dicks in their hands; unless you've got a hidden ace somewhere, you're S.O.L., buddies."

Rowena frowned. "S.O.L.?"

"Shit out of luck." She swallowed another grape. "Man, these are fantastic!"

"Thanks," Rowena said. "And we must be S.O.L., then, because I have no idea what else to do."

"You should go to the Shaperate!" Dagna said suddenly.

"The what?"

"The Shaperate!" She looked excited. "It has all the knowledge in Orzammar – history, science, everything! It's where I always go when I need to learn something!"

Rowena felt her stomach drop. "You mean…it's a library?"

She nodded. "Pretty much!"

"_Nooo_," Rowena whispered to herself.

"And this library – it'll have a book on how to pick a king?" Sten asked, eyebrow raised.

She shook her head. "But you'll be able to see how every other king was chosen! And ask whatever questions you need!"

"Will they even let us inside?" Morrigan asked. "'Tis difficult to tell when we are welcome and when we are not."

"Good point, Morrigan," Rowena said quickly. "I'd hate to go all that way just to be deni—"

"You should be fine," Dagna said; Rowena's hopes plummeted. "The Shaperate is supposed to be open to anyone seeking knowledge – though, I'm not sure if the Casteless are allowed…" She glanced over at Natia. "Sorry!"

"Well, there go my bloody afternoon plans," Natia said, throwing another grape into her mouth.

"But it sounds like a good option for us," Morrigan said.

Rowena sighed. "It does, you're right." She rose reluctantly to her feet. "Let's head there now. Thank you, Dagna – I'll let you know if we find something."

* * *

"You're not going to find anything," Rolfdir sniffed half an hour later as they made their way to the top of the Diamond Quarter. "I would have recommended the Shaperate weeks ago if I'd thought they'd be any help. They've been backlogged for the past two hundred years, most of it just useless trade deals and birth records, and there's no organization whatsoever."

"Fitting that it's in Orzammar, then," Sten said. The guard marching behind him stepped too close to his foot; the Qunari turned around and glared at him. The patrol backed up a few feet.

"All libraries are like that, Sten, not just the ones in Orzammar," Rowena said. To be honest, it did feel good to be doing something, even if it meant going to the library. She was tired of sitting around, tired of never having enough information. "And Rolfdir, please, just take us there. It's not like we don't have a ton of time to waste."

The dwarf shrugged. "Whatever you say." They were stopped in front of a simple door carved out of the stone near the royal palace. Unlike the other buildings in the Diamond Quarter, the Shaperate had no façade, making it impossible to tell its size. "This is it?" Rowena asked, staring at the door. There was no one else around but them.

Rolfdir nodded. "It's one of the oldest buildings in the Diamond Quarter; it's nicer on the inside."

He was right. As they crossed the entrance, they found themselves in a dimly-lit chamber with high ceilings, the clamor of their guards' armor echoing off the walls. Every surface – the walls, the floors, and the pillars – was covered in irregular bouts of faintly-glowing dwarven runes.

"This is the original Hall of the Shaperate," Rolfdir murmured. "These are the first recorded memories in our history – the births of kings, battles won and lost, all outlined in lyrium so as to never be forgotten. But these aren't much use to anyone, I'm afraid. The real knowledge is in the reading rooms beyond, but you need a Shaper to get to those – although one seems to be approaching now…"

Rowena followed his gaze to see the oldest woman she'd ever met storming across the hall towards them. "Out!" she croaked, shaking her fist. "Get out of the Shaperate!"

"Shaper Magda, the head of the Shaperate," Rolfdir murmured quickly. "It looks like she's in a good mood today."

Rowena smiled and bowed her head to the dwarf, pulling out her best manners. "Lady Shaper, forgive us if we're intruding, but we really must—"

"I am not talking to you, Warden," she barked. "I mean these louts you've brought with you! I'll not have Assembly mooks goose-stepping through the Shaperate!"

"We're here by order of the Assembly, Lady Shaper," one of the guards said, placing her hand on her sword. "If you have any complaints about our presence, you should take them up with them."

"Ha! Go to the Assembly? They wouldn't even recognize me! I haven't seen a noble in these halls for years, unless they're trying to get their little back-door deals verified." Her laugh was harsh, like someone gargling rocks. "And get your hand off that sword, girl! I could have your precious Assembly throw you in the Deep Roads faster than you could draw it."

"That won't be necessary," Rowena said, secretly glad to be rid of the guards. "Please, everyone, just wait for us outside. Hopefully we won't be long."

The chief guard glared at Shaper Magda. "By the Stone, you better not be."

"I'm shaking in my shoes," the Shaper said coldly as the guards filed out of the room. "Really, Warden, you shouldn't let these thugs dictate your lives; I doubt she could even spell her own name."

"It's not her we're worried about," Rowena said. "Until the succession is settled, we're completely at the mercy of the Assembly."

"Idiots in fancy clothing," Magda snorted. "I pity your situation, Warden, but I fail to see why you've come here."

Rowena smiled half-heartedly. "I was told this was the place to look for answers, if there were any to be found."

She smiled wryly. "We'll see about that – but follow me. We may have something you can use."

She led them to the back of the lobby and through a dark tunnel. The further they walked, Rowena suddenly became aware of a light buzzing in the back of her head. "Is there something wrong with the air here?"

Morrigan laughed softly. "'Tis the lyrium, I expect – I doubt you've ever been exposed to so much before."

"Is that possible, Shaper? Is there even that much lyrium here?"

Magda smirked and led them around a corner. Rowena stopped and stared at the room she was entering. It was hundreds of feet tall and glowed with lyrium runes, all pulsing gently. Her heart rate picked up slightly. "Is this safe?"

"For us, of course," Magda said. "For humans…well, at least you're not elves. I'd hate to have to clean up for any nosebleeds."

She nodded and stepped further into the room. The runes were tiny and stopped about halfway up the chamber. A stone walkway snaked along the walls, supporting other members of the Shaperate who were busy retouching runes or putting in new ones. "This is the Hall of History," Magda said, stepping onto the walkway. "Every major event in our history has been recorded on these walls."

"What happens when you run out of room?" Sten asked, clearly unimpressed.

"I'll be dead by then, so I don't worry about it." She hobbled up the floors, hands trailing along the runes. "There have been four elections for the succession in our history; the first is written here." She stopped and translated. "_And in the 14__th__ and final year of King Nikolai's reign, His Majesty choked to death on the rib of a nug and plunged Orzammar into chaos. Having no children, the succession was left to the Assembly, who, after six months of debate, voted to let the Ancestors decide and had the candidates fight for the throne. Queen Valda II of House Holinor was declared the victor._"

"That might work," Rowena said.

Magda shook her head. "Neither Harrowmont not Bhelen would dream of entering the Arena, and that type of fight wouldn't allow for champions – next!" She hobbled forward, stopping at the other side of the chamber. "Here! _In the 29__th__ and final year of Queen Ingrid's reign, Her Majesty tripped on the Provings Bridge and was incinerated in the sea of lava. As her only children were triplets of uncertain birth order, the succession was left to the Assembly, who, after four years of negotiation and bloodshed, named King Ragnar the victor after the deaths of both his brothers._"

Rowena frowned. The lyrium was making her antsy, clouding her judgment. "That one's not ideal."

"It is the most natural to us, though," Shaper Madga said. "Next!"

She raced forward to catch up with the dwarf, careful not to lose her balance. "How do you know where all these are?"

"Pointless questions get no answers." She had found the next entry. "_In the 5__th__ and final year of King Wilmar's reign, His Majesty took a hammer blow to the head in a Provings, said he was fine, and was found dead three hours later in his lavatory. Having left a great deal of bastards from all castes save his own and no legitimate heirs, the succession was left to the Assembly, who, after a year and a half of squabbling, was forced by a revolt to hand the city over to The Servant Queen Dasha, who later gave the throne to her cousin King Duran Holinor after he had her assassinated._"

"We most likely should not be inciting revolts, either," Morrigan remarked.

"And this last one won't be very helpful, I'm afraid," Shaper Magda said, walking up to a carving. "_In the 17__th__ and final year of King Vladimir's reign, His Majesty was deeply frightened by his mother-in-law and descended into a coma from which he never woke up. As his only child was emotionally and mentally unsuited for the throne, the succession was left to the Assembly, who, after two years of negotiating, brokered a deal to put King Ragnan I of House Aeducan on the throne._"

Rowena was silent for a moment, letting it all sink in. "That's all there is?"

She nodded. "I'm afraid so."

"What did I tell you?" Rolfdir asked. "There was nothing waiting for you here, I knew it."

Rowena's mind was whirring, either an effect of the lyrium or her own unwillingness to be wrong. She had not come to a library for nothing, after all. "But what…what about the first king? How was he chosen?"

Shaper Magda stopped and gave her an appraising glance. "You mean Bloadlikk?"

"Excuse me?"

She sighed. "Bloadlikk, the First King! The youngest and wisest of the Seven Brothers who founded our empire! Our first ruler!"

"Oh! Right!" She had never heard of him in her life. "How was he chosen? What did the Assembly do then?"

Magda and Roldir looked at each other. "Nothing," Rolfdir said slowly. "The Assembly wasn't around then."

"The Great Ancestor chose him," Magda said. "The Seven Brothers' mother, the woman from whom we can all trace our descent. She saw how clever her son was and chose him to lead the Dwarva."

Rowena felt like swearing. "Again, the Ancestors – maybe we can just push Harrowmont and Bhelen into the Arena together…"

"This is different," Magda said thoughtfully. "The Great Ancestor was not a representative of the Ancestors – she was a Living Ancestor. Living Ancestors, therefore, can choose a king."

"Would that really be accepted in the Assembly?" Rolfdir asked, frowning.

"I am the person who makes that decision for the Assembly, and it makes sense to me," Magda said coldly. "There is a clear precedent, and their word goes even beyond the king's in government; it's just so rare to _have_ Living Ancestors that they've never had a chance to decide the succession." She looked excited. "Warden, this may be your chance!"

The lyrium was giving Rowena a headache. "I'm sorry, can someone fill me in on what a Living Ancestor is?"

"Paragons," Magda said. "Living representations of the Dwarva and the Stone. If you can get a Paragon to support a candidate, that candidate will be named king."

"A shame, then, that there are no Living Paragons currently," Rolfdir said.

"That's not true," Morrigan said. "That Branka woman is a Paragon, is she not?"

"Paragon Branka is as good as dead," Rolfdir said. "She disappeared months ago into the Deep Roads – if she's not already rotting in some hurlock's stomach, we'd need a whole army to go out and rescue her, and who'd want to do that?"

Rowena froze for a moment. An idea was forming in her mind, a crazy, dangerous one. "Rolfdir, take us back home," she said slowly. "I think I have a plan."

* * *

The smell and the food, Eruestan could get used to. The inactivity, however, was proving to be a challenge.

"We should have never, ever come to Orzammar," he said, pacing the cell. "The horde could be at Denerim by now, and we'd have no idea. We're going to die in here."

"You're cheerful," Alistair said, checking his nails. "And don't worry – Rowena's smart, she'll get us out of here."

"Well, I'm smart, too, and look where we are."

"Someone thinks highly of himself," Leliana remarked.

"Eruestan _is_ very smart, though," Zevran said quietly. Eruestan looked over at him sharply; the assassin was lazily drawing circles in the dirt of the cell.

"In any case, all this worrying isn't going to do anyone any good," Wynne said firmly. She looked stronger, now able to sit herself up against one of the cell walls. "And Eruestan, if you're looking to distract yourself, perhaps you could help our…friend…"

Eruestan glanced over to Oghren, who was busy vomiting in the back corner. "How, by giving him a new liver?"

"My friggin' liver's fine, you twinkler," Oghren groaned, staggering back to his feet. "And if you're lookin' for a distraction, there's nothin' better than fightin' to take a man's mind off things. The old way, too – fist on fist, no weapons, just good old-fashioned man-on-man pain match."

"Lost me at 'fight', interested me again with 'fist', ultimately lost me with 'pain match' but gave me a marvelous fantasy with 'man-on-man', so thank you," Zevran said, still drawing dirt circles.

Leliana sighed. "Zevran, you try too hard."

He grinned at her. "You wouldn't believe the amount of times I've heard that."

"You stay over there, elf," Oghren grunted. "I've got my eye on you."

Eruestan started to say something; before he could, the door to the cell room burst open and a squadron of guards walked through.

"Your Excellencies," the head guard said. "We have good news."

"Doubt it," Alistair muttered.

Eruestan raised his eyebrows. "What is it?"

She pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the cell door. "You're free to go. All of Orzammar is now open to you."

Of all the things he had expected to hear, that was not it. "We're…wait, what?"

"You're free to go," she said. "Your movement through the city is no longer restricted, and all penalties have been cleared."

Eruestan was stunned. "Really? Why?"

"You'll have to ask someone else about that – I'm just following orders." She glanced over at Oghren. "You're free to go as well, you fat oaf. Some poor fool's paid your bail."

"'Bout damn time," he growled. "I need a drink."

They began to file out warily from their cell; Eruestan wouldn't have put it past them to sound an alarm and claim that they were trying to escape. The guards, however, did nothing. "What do you think happened?" he asked. "Did Rowena find us a way out?"

"That, or the Assembly finally realized how stupid it was to keep Grey Wardens locked up during a Blight," Leliana replied.

"That's not likely, is it?"

They walked out of the prison and out onto the street. The city was bustling – the dwarves seemed shocked to see them. Now, however, there was no fear or scorn in the crowds; instead, there was a sense of respect almost bordering on awe.

"Something weird is going on," Eruestan murmured, eyeing the people.

"I shudder to think what that might mean for Orzammar," Wynne said. "What on Earth are they whispering about?"

Two women were walking past them, eyes wide as they gossiped furiously in Dwarven.

Oghren swore loudly, making everyone jump. "No one told me you blasted nugfuggers were going into the Deep Roads, too."

"What?" Alistair asked sharply.

"We didn't agree to that, Oghren," Eruestan said.

"That's what everyone's talkin' about," the dwarf snarled. "What, you thought you'd pull one over on ole Oghren? Make a fool outta him, too?"

"No, honestly, we didn't—"

"Whatever," he said. "I'm goin' to Tapster's – don't let the door hit ya where the Stone split ya."

"These dwarves have such a way with words," Zevran said.

Eruestan glanced at the others. "This can't be good."

"Rowena will be able to tell us more," Wynne said, frowning. "We should get back to the mansion immediately."

"There must be a mistake," Alistair said; Eruestan noticed that he had gone slightly pale. "We can't be going there."

"It'll be all right, Alistair," Eruestan said. "Let's just meet with Rowena and see what this is all about."

She was waiting for them in the parlor as they walked inside, Morrigan, Sten, and Rolfdir at her side. "You're back!" she said, relieved. "I was worried they'd give you trouble at the prison."

"None at all," Eruestan replied. "How the hell did you get us out?"

"Only by defiling the most sacred of Orzammar's traditions!" Rolfdir cried. The dwarf was slumped against his chair, his face gone pale. "She blasted her way into the Assembly Chamber, had that witch disarm all the guards, and derailed the city's holy proceedings!"

Eruestan's jaw had dropped. "You didn't."

She looked a little sheepish. "I did."

"Why?" Alistair asked, crossing his arms. "What was the point?"

She paused. "Well, this morning I went to the library."

That took a moment to sink in. "You _what_?" Wynne asked.

"Shut up," she said. "Someone told me to try looking at the Shaperate for answers, and while I was there I found a loophole that allows Paragons to choose kings or queens."

The gears in Eruestan's head began turning. "Why hasn't anyone told us this before?"

"These are extremely rare circumstances," Rolfdir said. "The vast majority of Paragons are named after their deaths, and as there have only been four succession crises in our history, no Paragon has been alive to settle the decision."

"Luckily for us, there is one now," Rowena said. "But, since no one else was willing to go find Paragon Branka, I volunteered us to go into the Deep Roads and rescue her."

Rolfdir snorted. "That's one way to put it."

Alistair looked horrified. "You did _what_?"

"What?" she asked, slightly defensive. "I got you out of prison, didn't I?"

He didn't seem to hear her. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"This does seem a little extreme," Wynne said in alarm. "Are you sure this is the only option?"

"We tried to reason with her beforehand," Morrigan sighed. "She does seem to have a death wish, though."

Alistair was grimacing at this point. "You have no idea."

"Well, when are we supposed to leave?" Leliana asked. "Maybe we can work out a different deal before we go…"

"Probably not," Rowena said. "We leave tomorrow morning."

"_What_?"

"Why don't we talk about this in the study, Rowena?" Eruestan said quickly, noticing the look on her face. "We can all calm down and figure out what exactly is going on."

She nodded slowly, eyes narrowed at the room. He followed her and Cormac back to the library, closing the door behind him. "I honestly don't see what all the fuss is," she said hotly, turning to him. "I didn't see anyone else have any big idea to get ourselves free."

"I mean, at the same time, it is the bloody Deep Roads," Eruestan said, trying to keep his voice calm. "I don't think anyone would be thrilled to go down there alone."

"But we're not going alone!" she said, surprised. "We're going with the Legion of the Dead."

"The what?"

"I don't actually know," she admitted. "Evidently they fight darkspawn, too? I didn't really understand. In any case, there's a group of new recruits going out into the Deep Roads tomorrow morning, and they're going to accompany us until we find Branka."

"Well, I feel better about that," Eruestan said. "How the _hell_ did you get them to agree to anything?"

"Honestly, it wasn't my best idea," she said, grinning. "They were about five minutes away from throwing me into the cell with you. Once they heard my plan, though…I think most of them were relieved. The nobility's getting worried about Bhelen's popularity with the lower castes, and someone told me after the fact that they think the Assembly is hoping that if we can find Branka, she'll choose Harrowmont."

"That's a bit of a risk."

She shrugged. "Branka's a noble. They're definitely going to trust her more than anyone poorer than them."

"This is such a headache," Eruestan sighed. "How does anyone do politics?"

"We're going to have to figure it out," Rowena said. "If we ever get out of here, we'll eventually have the Landsmeet to worry about."

"Right…about that." He sat down on the nearest couch. "In the cell last night I had a chance to think about everything that's going on here, and how it's going to affect what we do on the surface…well, in any case, I was wondering – have you spoken with Alistair at all about the Landsmeet?"

She blinked. "Uh…no, no I haven't."

"Well, you should," he said. "When the Landsmeet comes, we won't have time to waste deliberating over who gets the throne."

"You know that Alistair doesn't want to be king."

"Well, we should make sure of that now. The less we have to do in the future, the better."

"Fair enough." She glanced over at the door. "So, should I go talk to them? Or should you?"

"Maybe let me do it," he said, half grinning. "We're all a little shocked – I might be able to soften the blow."

"Oh, seriously, what good are Grey Wardens if we can't even go into the Deep Roads – _oh_!" She started and turned to him. "Speaking of softening blows, I just remembered! I have good news, for once!" He raised his eyebrows. "Lanca came by today and told me that she's done with Zevran – or wait, I'm sorry, _Zevvie_."

That was the last thing he was expecting to hear. "Oh no!"

"I know, it's great, isn't—wait, what?" She stared at him. "What do you mean, 'oh no'? Aren't you happy?"

"Why would I be?" he asked. "Zevran's going to be hurt! They were getting really close!"

"Eruestan, you know I love you, but you're not nearly enough of a good person to actually mean that."

"I'm serious!" She was smiling smugly at him; he didn't like it. "I should go tell him – and everyone! About the Deep Roads! Not about, you know – oh, shut up! And stop smiling!"

"Have fun!" she called after him; he flashed her a rude gesture and began walking back to the parlor, trying to ignore his increased heart rate.

The others were waiting anxiously for him when he got back. "So what's going on?" Alistair asked, coming over to him. "Rolfdir's been hyperventilating in the corner, and Morrigan and Sten aren't saying anything."

"I doubt you'd even understand it if I did," Morrigan said.

"Shut up, Morrigan!"

"Alistair! Calm down!" Eruestan frowned at him; he scowled and moved to the back of the room. "Anyways, Rowena's explained a little more about what we're supposed to be doing, and it really doesn't seem that bad."  
"Oh, right! It's only the Deep Roads, guys!"

"That's enough, Alistair," Wynne said soothingly. "Let Eruestan speak."

"I'm not excited about it, either," the mage said. "But according to Rowena, we're going to be accompanied by the Legion of the Dead."

"Is that a good thing?" Leliana asked.

"It is and it isn't," Rolfdir said, his breath slowing. "The Legion is dedicated to fighting the darkspawn, and have the best knowledge of the Deep Roads of anyone in the city."

"So what's the bad news?" Eruestan asked.

"They're condemned," Rolfdir replied. "Most are disgraced nobles or criminals. They're required to fight to the death in the Deep Roads, and are considered already dead in Orzammar."

"Oh, great!" Alistair said. "Sounds solid!"

"Well, at the very least we'll have companions," Eruestan said. "And honestly, what else were we going to do? Rowena was right, there's not much else we can do to get out of Orzammar."

"Right, so we'll just die instead! Good plan!"

"Alistair!" The knight fell silent again; Eruestan turned to the others, eyebrows furrowed. "Look, everyone, this is daunting and a bit haphazard, but this it's either this or rotting in prison while the world falls to pieces."

The room was silent.

"That shouldn't be that hard of a decision," he said.

"I don't know, Eruestan," Leliana said. "The Deep Roads sound…unpleasant."

"That's an understatement," Rolfdir said. "Hardly anyone comes out of the Deep Roads alive."

Eruestan frowned. "That has to be an exaggeration, Rolfdir."

The dwarf wasn't paying attention. "Fifteen years ago we sent out five hundred men on a research expedition to a site five miles from the city. Not a single one came back."

"Maker's breath!"

"Everyone, stop listening to Rolfdir," Eruestan said loudly. "Think of everything we've done! We found the Urn of Sacred Ashes! We killed a dragon! We fought off an army of undead! We can do this!"

The room was silent again.

He sighed. "Look, I'd put it to a vote, but we've already committed, and the only other alternative is to put ourselves back into prison. Why don't we all just let it sit for a while, and get ourselves used to the idea?"

"That's not likely," Alistair said gruffly. "Is Rowena still in the library?"

Eruestan nodded. "She should be, at least." The knight grunted and left the room.

"I should go to my room," Wynne said, standing up. "If we're leaving tomorrow, I need to rest."

"We all should," Leliana said. "Let's go, everyone."

They began filing out of the room; Eruestan grabbed Zevran's arm gently before he could leave. "There's something I need to tell you," he said softly. "Would you mind coming up to my room?"

The elf winked. "It was only a matter of time, my friend."

Eruestan rolled his eyes and led him up the stairs. As they walked through his door, he was surprised to find that his heart was fluttering. He had never had to do this before; how would Zevran take the news? It certainly wasn't something anyone would want to hear. Would he start crying? Was that something people did in these situations? By the time they reached his room, a thousand thoughts were racing through his mind, threatening to overwhelm him.

"So," Zevran said, "how are we going to do this? Should I spread you onto the bed, or would you rather ride me?"

This threw him even more. "Zev…I…that's not—"

"I'm kidding," he said, grinning; Eruestan's stomach clenched. "So, what is it you want to tell me?"

"It's not good…" Zevran frowned and sat down on the bed. "Zev, I don't know how to say this, but…Lanca…evidently, she said that she's…well, she's not going to be…with you…anymore…"

"Oh!" He stood up again. "Is that it? I thought maybe there was a plague going around."

"No, why would I wait to tell you that—wait, what?" He stared at the assassin. "You're not—why aren't you upset?"

"Why should I be?" Zevran asked, grinning. "I enjoyed my time with her, and now I will move to someone else. Life is short, my friend, and there are plenty of beautiful people to go around."

"Yes, but, Zevran…you were seeing her! Intensely! For weeks!"

"Three weeks is not a very long time, my friend."

Eruestan was mad out of nowhere, mad to the point of seething. Zevran's indifference was infuriating. "That doesn't matter! You were happy together! How can you not be affected by something like this? You should be sad, damn it!"

"What's the point in that?" Zevran asked, standing up. "Sad, happy, upset – why should this be dictated by someone else? Why should my emotions depend on the whims of another?"

"Well, because it's bloody human!" Eruestan spluttered.

Zevran raised an eyebrow. "We are not humans, my friend."

"You know what I mean! Maker's breath, Zevran, it's like you don't let yourself have any emotions at all!"

"Well, why do you care, Eruestan?" Zevran's face was cold, like a statue. "What does it matter? What I do and who I see has nothing to do with you!"

His voice was caught in his throat. "I don't—"

"That is correct: you don't." Zevran turned from him. "You don't have the right to tell me how to live. No one does." Eruestan tried to speak; Zevran cut him off. "I do not get attached, Eruestan," he said quietly. "The sooner you learn that, the sooner we can be friends."

Eruestan stared at him, his heart pounding. "That's…that's…"

"That is my way in life," he said. "That is all."

"I understand," Eruestan said icily. He had the sudden urge to yell at the assassin, to set him on fire, to curse him. "If you don't mind, Zevran, I would like to be alone. Close the door on your way out."

The assassin bowed his head. "Of course. Rest well."

His chamber door clicked shut as Zevran left. He sank on his bed, head now throbbing with his heart. What on Earth was going on?

* * *

Rowena had been lost in thought in the library, going over everything the Assembly had shouted at her earlier that day. There was nothing to prepare, beyond their own weapons; the city would give them enough food to survive a few days, and then the Legion would help them after their stores ran low. It was thus just a matter of finding Branka quickly, and finding her alive at that. Difficult, but not impossible. Nothing was impossible.

She started when Alistair entered, shaking her from her reveries. "Sorry!" she said, smiling. "I was just thinking."

"Ah." His voice was cold, a tone that sounded strange on him. She frowned and stood up next to him.

"Are you all right?" she asked, taking his hand. "You seem a little out of sorts."

"I'm fine," he said abruptly. He squeezed her hand and then broke away, turning to the shelves behind him. "There are a lot of books here."

"That's what generally happens in a library." She meant it as a joke; he didn't laugh. "Alistair, seriously, what's the matter? I know no one wants to go into the Deep Roads, but you seem really upset about it."

"Rowena, please, let's not talk about it," he snapped. "Please, let's just talk about something else – _anything_ else."

She was taken aback. "Uh…how was…how was prison?"

"Honestly? That's the best you can come up with?"

"What is your problem?" she snapped back at him. "Are you that pissed about the expedition? Because I may be wrong, but I don't think you had any brilliant suggestions back in the prison about how to get this whole mess sorted out!"

"Yeah, I'm pissed!" He turned to face her angrily; Cormac growled gently at Rowena's side. "I'm pissed that you waltzed into the Assembly and made a huge decision without asking any of us! I'm pissed at this whole shite city and these shite dwarves and every shite thing we've had to do since we came to this bloody shite pile!"

"And you think I'm thrilled about it?" she shot back. "Andraste's bleeding ass, are you angry that I didn't _ask_ you first? That I didn't announce my plan in front of the whole damn prison first? In case you haven't noticed, people who do that don't last very long around here!"

"I don't care what you do or what you decide! The fact is, you're getting off on the idea of throwing us all into a suicide mission just so you can play warrior princess!"

"Shut up!" she yelled. The library had gotten bizarrely hot; words were coming to her without her really thinking of them. "You're just a coward! At least I don't flinch every time someone says the words 'Deep Roads'! At least I'm not afraid of my own duties as a Warden! Maker, and to think that Eruestan wants to make you the bloody king…"

"What?" Alistair's face had frozen. "He what?"

She didn't know why she'd said it, especially because it wasn't wholly true. Still, in her anger the look of fear on his face was too good to let go. "Eruestan, for whatever reason he has, wants to put you up in front of the Landsmeet as a candidate for the throne."

Alistair was shaking his head. "I can't do that."

"Why? Because you're afraid you'll have to take charge of things for once in your life?"

"No!" He paused, face red. "Well, yes! But that's not it! Grey Wardens can't be kings!"

"Well, you're shite at both, so—"

"Just listen to me," he said hotly. "You want to know why I can't be king? You want to know why I'm afraid of the Deep Roads? It's because Wardens die there, Rowena."

There was something in the way he said that that made her uneasy; still, her temper was flaring. "What did I tell you? Coward."

"That's not what I mean." His voice was quieter now, almost steely. "I don't know if we'll die there tomorrow or next week, but one day, when our time comes, we'll be sent to the Deep Roads and we won't come back."

Her breath hitched. "What…what are you talking about?"

"It's the Taint," he said quietly. "The blood we drank – it affects us, too, just not as quickly as it does others. The magic keeps it in check for a while, but at a certain point…" His voice trailed off, hanging in the tense air of the library. "We send ourselves to the Deep Roads to die fighting, rather than become monsters on the surface. What we see tomorrow will be the last things we'll ever see – unless, of course, we're killed beforehand."

He might have meant that as a joke; Rowena wasn't paying attention. "How long? How long until that?"

"It depends," Alistair replied. "It varies slightly for everyone…but the average is thirty years. Thirty years after your Joining."

Her knees were threatening to buckle. She sank to the couch behind her, ignoring Cormac as he licked her hand anxiously. Thirty. What a cold, unfeeling number. Thirty years. She would be in her late forties by then, her hair perhaps gone grey. A longer life, to be fair; her mother had been younger when she died. Still, suddenly her life was bookended, the mystery of her ending somewhat removed. Now, no matter how many enemies she bested or adventures she survived, her own blood would eventually betray her. She had the sudden desire to claw open her veins, to get rid of the Taint that was now poisoning her.

Alistair was saying something. "…it's hard to hear. I still haven't accepted it – you could probably tell from what a bastard I've been – in the figurative sense this time, I mean, I've always been a literal bastard…"

"You didn't tell us," she said suddenly, looking up to him. The flames were fanning themselves again. "All this time we've been together, and you didn't say a word."

He looked pained. "It's not exactly my favorite topic of conversation—"

"You didn't tell us," she repeated, standing up again. "You…you _unbelievable_ bastard! You flaming pile of shit! You waited until _now_ to tell me this?"

"I'm so sorry, it's not something I think about, I just—"

"You just what?" Her head was pounding, she needed to leave. "You kiss me, you tell me I'm beautiful, but you can't tell me the truth? You…you killed me! You killed Eruestan!"

"Rowena, that's not fair…"

"_Get away from me_!" she yelled; he jumped back. "I can't…I can't even look at you!"

"Rowena!" It was too late; she spun around and raced out of the room, Cormac at her heels.

* * *

Eruestan was laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think. Suddenly his door flew open and slammed into the wall. He started and sat up, watching as Rowena stormed into the room, eyes flashing in anger.

"I need a drink," she announced. "Want to join me?"

* * *

The inside of Tapster's Tavern was, if possible, even shadier than the outside. The lighting was dim, the clients were gruff, and there was a constant sound of someone retching in the background. Normally Eruestan would have been on edge; now, however, he was discovering the joys of dwarven alcohol.

"You know, once you get past the intense burning in your throat, this stuff's great!" he gushed, downing another cup of ale. He shuddered from the taste, something between tar and acid. "Sweet Andraste!"

Rowena wasn't paying much attention, talking faster and faster the more she drank. "I just can't believe it, you know? All this time we've known him, and he hasn't bothered even once to tell us this? What a prick!"

"Oh, come on, it's not that big a deal." He threw a few coins on the counter. "_Chelovek! Bol'shee!_" The bartender grabbed the money and slammed two more cups onto the counter. "Damn! I love this place!"

"How are you acting so nonchalant about this?" she asked, grabbing one of the cups. "He lied to you about this, too."

"Honestly, Rowena, I'm not expecting to make it to the end of the week, let alone to age 48. And at least Alistair cares enough about you to shield you from the truth."

She snorted. "He cares enough to lie to me?"

"Well, yeah!" He nursed his cup; he suddenly wasn't sure of what he was saying. "I mean, well, like, obviously Zevran" (he laughed suddenly – what a strange name!) "Zevran doesn't give a rat's ass about how I feel, or how I think, so he just goes and says whatever he wants to, you know? Alistair, he like…he…you know, he like, _cares_ about you. Lying means someone cares about you."

She started giggling. "Eruestan, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

He snorted into the ale. "I know!"

She laughed and raised her cup. "All right, what are we drinking to?"

He tried to keep his face straight. "Fuck Zevran!"

"No, fuck Alistair!" she said.

They both grinned broadly and clinked their cups. "Fuck blondes!" they said loudly, and then collapsed into laughter.

An hour later they were slumped against each other in a table near the back, stroking each other's hair. "You're just, like, _so pretty_," Eruestan said, putting a lock of her hair above his mouth like a mustache. "Like, _ridiculously _pretty."

"No, _you're_ pretty!" She sat up and looked at him earnestly. "And you're so smart!"

"No, _you're_ smart!"

She grabbed his hand. "Well, you're smart and pretty and brave and wonderful and everything good and I just love you so, so much!"

Tears were gathering in his eyes. "And I love _you_ so, so much! Rowena, you're my best friend!"

"No, you're _my_ best friend!" They both were dangerously close to crying; they both quickly leaned forward and gave each other tight hugs.

"Hey, you nugfuggers, either make room for me or get a room," a familiar voice grumbled in front of them.

They broke apart. "Oghren!" Eruestan cried. "Maker's breath, it's been forever! How are you?"

"Gettin' dangerously sober," the dwarf grunted. "Mind if I pop a squat?"

"That sounds gross, but sure!" Rowena said. "Barkeep! A bottle of ale for the three of us!"

Oghren slumped down next to them as a server moved to the back with their drinks. "So what brings you two here?" he asked, grabbing a cup the server had poured for him. "Don't see a lot of Topsiders in Tapsters."

"We're celebrating how awful life is," Eruestan said gravely.

"I'll drink to that!" Rowena cheered. "To life being shite!"

"To life being shite!" The three of them threw their heads back and downed the contents of their cup.

Oghren whistled as the two of them surfaced from holding back their own sick. "You know, Twinkler and Firecrotch, you're not bad at holding your liquor."

"We're Grey Wardens, Org…Argen, it's what we do best," Eruestan slurred. He hiccupped and grabbed for the ale bottle; the tavern had gotten remarkably blurry! "Where…where did it go?"

Oghren chuckled and filled up his cup for him. "Twinkler really wants to pound 'em back."

"More like he'd rather be back-pounded," Rowena snorted.

Eruestan laughed so hard he thought his ribs were going to break. "Shite," he said, calming down. "I'm sad now."

"What's he belly-achin' about?" Oghren asked.

Rowena's smile had faded, too. "It's a long story, Oghren."

He shrugged. "We got time."

An hour later (or two? Three?), the three of them were huddled together, clutching onto their ales like lifelines. "I juss don't understand," Eruestan said, laying his head on the table. "I liked him _sooooo_ much, and then it all went 'poof'!"

"Sounds like it went poofy a long time ago," Oghren said, taking another shot of ale.

Eruestan tried to furrow his eyebrows, but found that he couldn't. "You're either funny or mean, I can't tell."

"Nah, I'm just twistin' your balls, forget about it." He belched and threw his cup down to the ground. "At least your wife and the rest of your friggin' family didn't leave you to go kill themselves in the blasted Deep Roads."

"At least you had a wife," Rowena sighed, her head resting against the tavern wall. If Eruestan had been in any state to realize it, he would have noticed that she was now speaking with a slight Highever accent. "We're just shite at romance."

He snorted. "Romance…you think that was romance? Branka wasn't a wife, she was a bronco. Only thing she loved was her forge. The closest we got to romance was me askin' her to sit on my face and her kickin' me out of the house."

"At least you asked," Eruestan said. "You know I bought him a belt before we got here? And I still haven't given it to him? Pathetic, right?"

"You should give it to 'im, Eruestan," Rowena said, closing her eyes. "Make a gesture."

"Yeah!" he said. "A ges…that thing! I'll do it!" He turned to Oghren. "You ever try any ges…ges…those things?"

"I asked her to sit on my face!"

Eruestan and Rowena started giggling. "That's not the same," Eruestan persisted, grinning. "I mean, like, flowers, or something."

"Yeah, and maybe some perfume, too, right? Shave my beard off, too, right? Let me just put some make-up on and buy her tickets to the theatre while we're at it!"

Eruestan was confused. "Uh…yeah, those would all be good."

Rowena mumbled something.

"What?"

"Go to the Deep Roads with us," she sighed, trying to lift her head. "Help find her. That'll show her you care."

"I don't soddin' care!" He had yelled it; a minute later, though, he had grown thoughtful. "Huh…at the same time, it might be the last chance I'd get to give her a piece of my mind…and it'd piss her off to see me down there…I'll think about it, Wardens. You might be onto something."

"Cool," Eruestan said, hiccupping again. "Now who wants more ale?"

"Me," all three of them said. Eruestan tried to stand up and collapsed back into his chair, laughing uncontrollably.

The rest of the night passed in blurs. Someone paid him in ale to make their table dance around the tavern with magic. Sometime later, Rowena perked up again and began challenging people to arm-wrestle her. He and Oghren were laughing about something – what was it? Suddenly he was walking down the streets of the city, Wynne and Leliana at either side of him. "What are you two doing here?" he slurred. "Did we stop the Blight?"

Another blur and they were at the mansion, slowly making their way upstairs. Sten and Morrigan were supporting Rowena, who was struggling to keep her footing. "I got this, I got this," she growled, trying to break free of them. Her knees gave out suddenly and she buckled, almost knocking them over.

"You both need to get to sleep," Wynne was saying. "We'll get you some water, and then we'll lay you down."

They were at his bedroom now; Zevran's door was open. "Eruestan, please just sit down," Leliana said. "Like Wynne said, we'll get you – where are you going?"

He didn't know what had made him think of it. He had just grabbed the belt and ran into the assassin's room, Wynne and Leliana close behind him. Zevran was standing by his wardrobe, obviously listening to what was going on in the landing; he turned around in surprise as Eruestan stumbled in.

"Eruestan!" he said. "Are you all right?"

"S-shut up," Eruestan hiccupped. "I wanted to give you this." He threw the belt at Zevran's feet. "It's leather and you said you liked leather so I bought it, but you're stupid now so I don't want to think about it anymore."

"Ok, Eruestan, it's time for bed," Leliana said quickly, grabbing his arm; he shook her off abruptly.

"And just for the record," he said, keeping eye contact with the assassin. "I am _so_ over you. Like, a mountain over you. An eagle! I'm a soaring eagle flying over your mountain, so you don't have to worry about 'getting attached' or 'having feelings' or whatever, because I'm a cloud! I'm the sun, and you…you're…well, I don't know what you are!"

"Well put, Eruestan," Wynne said, pulling on him as well. "Now why don't we…"

He had stopped paying attention. Something was rising out of his stomach – anger? Sadness? By the time he realized what it was, it was too late. Leaning forward, he grabbed his knees and vomited all over Zevran's floor.

The room was silent for a moment. "Well," he said, wiping his mouth. "That's all I have to say about that."

And that was the last thing he remembered.

* * *

_Thank you all for the lovely support! Reviews are welcome! _


	35. Breaching the Depths

_He was running through an open grass plain during a violent storm. Dwarven ale was pouring from the sky, forming giant puddles on the ground. He tried leaping over one; suddenly, a mottled hand shot up from the surface, grabbing his ankle and dragging him down—_

"_Ahh_!" Eruestan jolted up from bed. His bedroom was dark; he panted for a moment, until a wave of pain washed over him. "Maker's breath, my head…"

"Yes, unfortunately that's a side effect of nearly drinking yourself to death," someone said kindly. He jumped as a ball of light flared up beside his bed; Wynne smiled and handed him a glass of water. "If we were at the Circle, I could give you a potion that would clear that up instantly. Unfortunately. here all I have is water."

"I'll take it," he said, grabbing the glass. He was either going to be ill or have his skull split in half. "Sweet Andraste, it's like I ran headfirst into a wall."

"The first time I tried dwarven ale, I woke up two days later in the Tower storerooms, completely naked and covered in blood lotus," Wynne said. "All things considered, you're doing rather well."

Eruestan laughed. "Well, I guess I didn't do anything _too _embarrass…" He cut himself off mid-sentence. A horrifying memory had just popped into his mind. "Wynne, did I…?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "All over Zevran's floor. He had to sleep in the parlor."

Eruestan moaned and fell back on his bed. "Kill me."

"Oh, there's no need for that," she said. "Believe me, I'm sure he's seen worse. After all, at the end of the day it was all rather sweet."

He moaned again. "_Please_ just kill me – it won't even be murder, you'll have my permission."

"There's no point in having that kind of attitude," she said, balancing the ball of light in her hand as she stood up. She crossed over to his dresser and pulled out a tunic with an attached breastplate. "In any case, it's time to leave. The recruits from the Legion of the Dead are about to go through their parting ceremony."

He tried to stand up; the room swirled and his head threatened to burst. "Wynne, I don't think I can do this."

"You'll push through," she said. "What was that you were saying last night about fighting demons and finding the Urn of Sacred Ashes? A hangover's nothing to that."

He grimaced and finally pulled himself out of bed. The room swayed again; he swallowed and began dressing himself. The armor was heavy, making his head throb even harder. "How's Rowena?"

"Surprisingly well," Wynne said, opening his door. "It must be the Highever blood in her, they all drink like fish. She's down in the lobby with the others."

He nodded and followed her out into the landing. His knees buckled immediately; he hadn't expected the lights to be so bright. "Ah! Maker!"

"It'll be darker in the Deep Roads, don't worry," Wynne said. In the light he could see that she looked exhausted. Her skin was pale and glistening with sweat, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

"Wynne, you're not well," he said gently, clutching the bannister. "You shouldn't be coming with us, you should rest…"

"There's no need to worry," she said, wiping her forehead. "I'll admit that I've been feeling a little weak lately, but I'm not going to abandon you all right before we enter the Deep Roads."

He bit his lip. "I respect that…still, at the same time, Orzammar's been bad enough for you – if you go into the Deep Roads..."

"I'll be fine," she said firmly. "I may not know how this spirit works, but I'm stronger than I look, and I can feel that it has enough force to keep me around for a little while longer. Besides," she said, trying to sound off-hand, "even if the worst happens, at least not everyone gets to say they died in the Deep Roads."

He thought about this for a moment, and then reached out to squeeze her hand. She smiled and squeezed it back. "Let's join the others," she said. "We need to be leaving soon."

The parlor was silent when they walked in. Everyone sat on different couches, refusing to look at each other. Even Cormac seemed out of spirits, resting his head gloomily on Rowena's lap. Zevran was sitting quietly in the back of the room; Eruestan took a deep breath to keep calm and almost gagged. "What is that smell?"

"Our 'friend' followed us back home last night," Leliana said. She motioned to the back corner. "We tried to kick him out, but he threatened to start urinating all over us, and, well, frankly, I didn't want to have to boil all my clothes."

Eruestan looked over to where she was pointing and saw a sleeping pile of red hair scratch itself in a rather impolite area. "Oghren? What are you doing here?"

"We invited him, remember?" Rowena sighed. She looked fine; a small part of him hated her for that. "Not one of our best decisions, mind..."

Someone scoffed; Alistair was sitting on the back couch, staring straight ahead at the wall across from him with his arms crossed. Rowena pursed her lips coldly and crossed her arms as well. Eruestan sighed internally; this was going to be tricky.

"Well, here you are," Rolfdir said, walking into the room. "Politeness demands that I not tell you how idiotic the thing you're about to do is…but still..." He sighed. "I'll not lie to you, though, it will be nice to have a little break. My blood pressure has been rising ever since you first came into this city."

"I mean, we'll be back at some point, Rolfdir," Eruestan said. "Hopefully, at least."

He raised an eyebrow. "Right, of course, my apologies."

"_What's goin' on_?" Oghren yelled suddenly, sitting straight up. "_Where the hell am I_?"

Rolfdir took a step back in horror. "What is _he _doing here?"

"He's coming with us," Leliana said. "Provided he can stand up, that is."

"I can stand up, you nugfugger," the dwarf snarled. He didn't move. "I mean, just give me a minute."

"Huh," Rolfdir said. "I didn't realize you actually _were_ trying to get yourselves killed."

"You're not rid of us yet, little man," Morrigan said. "Mind your manners lest we change our minds at the gates."

"If only, if only," Alistair said.

"We should head to those gates now, though," Wynne said. "We'll miss the ceremony otherwise. Are you able to stand up now, Oghren?"

"For you, Big Tits? Somethin's standin' up, sure."

She closed her eyes. "Please let us leave this house, before I blast him out of it."

"Wynne's right," Rowena said, rising to her feet. "Let's move out."

She and Rolfdir led their way out of the mansion and down the streets of the Diamond Quarter. The city was empty; it must have been very early. Their armor echoed in the silence as they descended down the neighborhood. Each step felt like a knife plunging into Eruestan's head – it was going to be a long day.

At the gates that normally brought them out of the Diamond Quarter, Rolfdir turned in the opposite direction, taking them down a wide street leading to the cavern floor. Before long, they had reached a set of massive gates. "These are the Doors of Caridin," Rolfdir said. "They're our last line of defense against the darkspawn – they say they're impregnable."

Oghren snorted. "Easy to call something impregnable when no one's ever tried to breach them."

Rolfdir frowned. "Well…that's not…oh, whatever. Like I said, they _say_ they're impregnable, anyways." Obviously annoyed, he walked up to the gates and leaned back to shout. "You there! The Grey Wardens have come to enter the Deep Roads!" Someone in the gatehouse shouted back his assent. "We've arrived just in time," Rolfdir said. "The ceremony must have just begun."

"What ceremony?" Eruestan asked; however, at that moment, the Doors of Caridin began to rumble open. The land beyond was jagged and steep, leading down to a small set of steel doors in the cavern wall. There was a patch of flat earth in front of them; there, a man was bowed over two people lying on the ground, hands pointed to the earth as he chanted something to himself.

"What's going on?" Leliana asked. "Are they praying?"

"Not quite," Rolfdir said, leading them forward. "This is a funeral for the new recruits to the Legion."

Eruestan blinked. "What do you mean? Are they already dead?"

"Yes," Rolfdir said. "But…well, no. But yes."

Everyone stared at him.

"Stone's sake, man, they're not friggin' idiots," Oghren said. "The Legion of the Dead is all about honor. Someone disgraces themselves in life, they can "die" a hero's death and go fight for the city in the Deep Roads. If it happens, though, they're really dead as far as the city cares. No takin' it back."

Eruestan turned to look at Oghren. "Does this city ever feel weird to you, too?" he murmured.

The dwarf shrugged. "Drinkin' helps – I got some ale if you want it."

The thought of more alcohol made his stomach churn. "Er, no, thanks."

"Suit yourself." Oghren opened his flash and took a swig; Eruestan had to turn his head to keep from being sick.

As they drew nearer, they began to hear the words of the ceremony droning over the roar of the lava behind them. The man praying had his face completely covered in tattoos. They were mostly just lines and shapes, yet for some reason a chill went down Eruestan's spine. "What's he saying?" he asked.

Rolfdir's face was blank. "Who?"

"That man," Rowena said, frowning. "The one chanting, with all the tattoos?"

The dwarf shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Oghren belched. "Well, look, he's dead, right? Only dwarves can't come back as ghosts. This idiot has to pretend that man doesn't exist or else he's breakin' the rules of polite society."

Morrigan scoffed. "A pity we can't do the same to you."

"Huh," Leliana said. "Normally you'd say that kind of thing to Alistair."

"Yes, I am just _so_ lucky to have so many options. Your Maker must really be smiling on me."

"So let me get this straight, Rolfdir," Rowena said, turning back to him. "Right now, you think these new recruits are performing their own funerals for themselves?"

"Such strange times we live in, aren't they?" he said loudly. "In any case, you might remember one of them – Boyar Dagmar, Lord Harrowmont's champion from King Endrin's Proving…the one Your Excellency replaced, of course, when you risked your neck in the ring."

"Don't remind me," Eruestan muttered. "Who's the other one?"

"Gospodin Beomar, from the Merchant Caste. Evidently his father was caught evading import taxes on luxury goods from Orlais – rather than have the family's reputation destroyed, the son put the blame on himself sacrificed himself to the Legion."

Eruestan looked over at the prostrate recruits. They were lying face down in the dirt, their bodies covered in rocks and pebbles. "How long will they stay like that?"

"Oh, they've been lying out all night," Rolfdir said. "The ceremony itself will end soon, however, at which point the Legionnaire—er, I mean, someone…that is…" He flushed as his voice trailed off. "You'll get information…somehow…"

"This is insane," Alistair muttered.

"It's all rather interesting, though, isn't it?" Leliana asked. "Being invited to your own funeral, that is. Think of all the lovely things you'd get to hear others say about you!"

Oghren snorted. "Yeah, it's a little different down here. I wrote most of my old man's eulogy about how all the rumors about him snortin' elfroot were true."

For a moment, Leliana looked speechless. "How—you—how could you? What on earth would your father think?"

"No use twistin' your panties, he was a bastard anyways." He spat and readjusted his armor. "Besides, I got too drunk halfway through the ceremony to give it—threw up all over my Aunt Gerta instead."

Leliana looked over to Eruestan and Rowena. "This is _really_ the man you want to go with us into the Deep Roads?"

"No," Rowena said bluntly. "But he's coming anyways."

"Suits me fine," Oghren said. "Might finally get to see Big Tits naked this time."

"Don't hold your breath, you drunken oaf."

"Please do, actually," Sten said. "You reek."

"Guys, that dead dwarf is coming over, be quiet," Eruestan said. He paused for a moment. "That was a ridiculous sentence."

"Ah, yes, Your Excellencies," Rolfdir said, clearly trying to think of a way to explain what was happening. The Legionnaire stopped in front of them and waved. "The, uh, the…the ceremony is finished."

"We can see that, Rolfdir," Rowena said. "So who is this, exactly?"

The dwarf was at a loss for words. "I…I don't know what you're talking about. No one's here."

Eruestan sighed. "My head hurts way too much to be dealing with this right now."

"If someone _were_ to be here, however," Rolfdir said carefully, "his name might be Dmitri Hardor, former boyar and Legionnaire of the Dead."

The Legionnaire grinned broadly. "You all can just call me Dima. I'll be your guide in the Deep Roads – until we meet up with the rest of the Legion, that is."

"And when will that be, exactly?" Wynne asked. "We haven't been told much at all about what we'll be doing."

"I don't know," Rolfdir said loudly. "You'll have to find out inside."

Everyone stared at him; Dima just chuckled. "Oh, don't mind him – no one ever knows how to act around us. Come on, let's join with the new recruits first before we get into any details."

He led them over to the new Legionnaires, who were just then dusting themselves off from the ceremony. Eruestan looked them over surreptitiously; they were both very different people. Dagmar had a sharp face and harsh eyes, looking coldly at the rest of them. It was as if a statue of a warrior had come to life in front of them. Beomar, on the other hand, looked like a child, with pink, round cheeks. His eyes flitted around nervously; Eruestan doubted he'd ever used the war axe clutched in his hands.

He didn't have much time to reflect on this, however, because at that moment Dima began to tie a rope around all of them. "Well, bondage certainly wasn't what I had in mind for this morning," Rowena joked. No one said anything. "Really? No one wants to pile on that? Not even you, Zevran?"

"My mind is elsewhere," the elf said curtly; Eruestan winced. "Besides, if you consider this bondage, you really need to spend a few nights in Antiva."

"This isn't about bondage, it's about safety," Dima said, tying a knot around his own waste. "There are no lights where we're going, so we're going to have to stick together to make sure that no one gets lost."

Eruestan's heart started beating strangely. "What do you mean, there are no lights?"

"The path to Orzammar was darkened after the Second Blight, in an attempt to keep the darkspawn away," he said. "After the first major intersection, though, the rest of the Roads are fine. That's where my outpost is – it's where we normally induct new recruits. Fortunately for the rest of you, it's also where the Paragon was last sighted." He looked over to Dagmar and Beomar and smiled. "The induction ceremony is much easier than the funeral, don't worry."

"It is an honor to serve the Dwarva, no matter the toll," Dagmar said stiffly. "No price is too great in sacrifice to my people."

Beomar's knees were shaking. "We're not going to be covered in rocks again, are we?"

"What's going to happen to us once we get there?" Rowena asked. "How far did Branka get from this outpost?"

"My captain will know more about that," Dima said. "She'll send a small accompanying force with you once you're ready to plunge further into the Roads. Right now, though, you should all start saying your goodbyes. We could be stuck in there for weeks."

Eruestan stared at the doors in front of them. They were small, surprisingly, yet covered in deep gouges and strange runes. Power pulsed from them, a terrible one that spoke of hidden depths and great evil. He started looking around wildly; Rowena was tied to his left side, Oghren to his right. "Is anyone else freaking out right now?" he whispered urgently.

Oghren belched. "Nah, that's just indigestion. It'll pass."

Rowena looked over to Rolfdir, who was standing off to one side. "I guess we'll be seeing you then?"

The dwarf looked sad. "I'll send word of your demises to the surface, don't worry. At the very least, it was an honor serving you."

Rowena sighed as Cormac buried his head in her leg. "That's…thanks, Rolfdir."

Dima nodded at what appeared to be the cavern wall; immediately afterwards, however, the gates began to rumble open. An awful blackness began to reveal itself before them, a giant gaping jaw they were about to plunge themselves into.

"Just a few ground rules before we go in," Dima was saying quickly, checking that his knot was tight. "Always stick with the group – if you can't keep up, tell us to slow down. I know the path well, but there are tons of tunnels out there and people can easily starve to death in them. That applies to the dwarves, too – you may have your Stone sense, but with no map its useless. Also, we shouldn't find any darkspawn this close to the city – hell, if we're lucky, we won't find any anywhere. All the same, there's a lot more out there that would love to kill us. As such, from here on out there'll be no magic unless in an emergency."

Morrigan, Wynne, and Eruestan all looked over at him sharply. "What?"

"Almost everything out there that's dangerous is attracted to lyrium, and magic gets them like nothing else. That means no lights, no healing unless the wound is deadly, and no fighting unless we're desperate. Understood?"

Slowly, all the mages nodded; Eruestan felt even sicker. "Understood."

"Great." He looked forward and pointed into the abyss. "Let's move out!"

They started walking, bringing themselves closer and closer to the darkness. Eruestan glanced over at the others; almost everyone was pale, eyes flitting around the emptiness in front of them. Soon they had walked through the doors. All of a sudden, a horrible whisper flitted through his head, cloyingly sweet and tinged with decay. He, Rowena, and Alistair all twitched sharply; no one else noticed. The whisper left as quickly as it had come, yet to his surprise he found that he craved more of it, needed to feel it once more in his head. That faded, too, and before he knew it the doors were already closing.

He turned his head around violently, desperate to get one last glimpse of light. Orzammar was disappearing, a shrinking rectangle that was quickly becoming a sliver. The light seemed to flash for a moment before finally it vanished altogether.

They were in the Deep Roads.

* * *

It would prove to be one of the longest days in Rowena's life.

Despite Dima's repeated assurances that there was nothing to fear around them, the darkness put her on constant edge. It was a monster of its own, a yawning mouth that had swallowed them entirely. Within half an hour she had forgotten what light looked like, how it felt when you stared at it too long. Though the road was smooth and well paved, every step sent a thrill of terror through her, as if she were about to fall off a ledge. She could almost hardly tell where she ended and the blackness began.

To make matters worse, a strange whispering had began in the back of her mind from the minute they left the city. It was some sort of song, though she could hardly tell if there were words or even a melody. All she knew was that she both hated it and needed it. It made her want to claw her eyes out – it had to have something to do with the Wardens. Was that what her death would be like? Would she stumble around here in the darkness, pushed forward by that hideous whispering? The idea made her furious. 'Never', she thought to herself. 'I'll slit my throat first.'

In his defense, Dima did make an effort to lighten the mood, cracking jokes and reciting facts about the Deep Roads. They were some of the oldest structures in Thedas, built at the time of the ancient elven city of Arlathan. At the time, they had been a system of highways connecting the cities of the dwarven empire stretching from Gwaren to Minrathous. Now, however, they were sealed and overrun with darkspawn and other blighted creatures. The Legion was the only group to still navigate them.

After a few hours, though, his trivia began to get a little grating. Sensing the tension, he fell silent. That proved to be a bad idea. Together, the silence and the darkness were infinitely worse; sweat began to break out on the back of Rowena's neck. "Does anyone have any stories?" she asked, trying to keep her voice calm. "Something to distract us?"

"I heard a story about something one of the Master Assassins did to a disobedient recruit once," Zevran's voice said. "They gouged out his eyes and cut off his hands. I never really imagined what that must be like before now…"

She shuddered. "That's, uh, not quite the type of story I was looking for."

"That does remind me something my mother once did," Morrigan said. Even her voice seemed more tense than usual. "A group of hunters had been lurking around our hut when I was a girl – she encased them all in trees, leaving only their mouths exposed. The screams kept us awake for days."

"Maker's breath!"

"Not surprised," Alistair muttered over to her side.

"Someone _has _to have something lighter," Eruestan said. Though his voice sounded steady, Rowena could tell that he was trying very hard to keep himself calm. "Otherwise we're all going to go crazy."

"Do _you_ have anything?" Alistair asked.

"Well, no, but I'm hungover and scared out of my mind, so…"

Rowena didn't want to think about fear. "Leliana? You have to have something."

The bard sighed. "Unfortunately all I can think about are the Forgotten Ones."

All the dwarves in the party swore loudly. "Stone's teats, woman, why'd you got to say somethin' stupid like that?" Oghren barked. "Half of us are about to piss ourselves as it is."

"Who are the Forgotten Ones?" Rowena asked.

Dima coughed. "That, uh, may not be the best story to be telling at the moment…"

"They're part of an old dwarven legend," Leliana said, cutting him off. "A merchant told me about them at a party once. According to him, they're survivors of the great dwarven cities lost during the First Blight, corrupted by the Taint. They've been sealed in the Deep Roads ever since, hiding in the shadows, stalking their prey in the dark until they attack from behind and drag them back to their lairs…"

Cormac's head brushed against Rowena's leg – she almost shouted in fright. "That's it with the stories," she snapped, now even more afraid of the dark. "Let's just get to this outpost as fast as possible."

They went the rest of the way in silence. They only made one stop for lunch, huddled around the legs of what Dima said was a statue of a dwarven queen. They all ate quickly and without pleasure; standing still made the darkness even worse, and without their armor clinking they were able to hear a distant screeching coming from behind them.

"Those are deepstalkers," Dima said, trying to sound upbeat. "Kind of like rats down here. They've got nasty sets of teeth, but they're easy enough to fight off – unless they swarm, of course. Don't worry, they hardly ever do that this close to the city."

Everyone stopped eating at that point. For the rest of the day, Rowena found herself constantly skipping forward, sure she had just felt a claw at the back of her ankle.

Time began to fall out of focus. She was finding it hard to think; the whispers and the growing fear were swirling in her stomach. She was starting to see images dancing in the black, darkspawn and demons and dragons with glowing teeth. She could not let herself crack, not now, when she had already been through so much. 'I am Rowena Cousland,' she began to repeat to herself. 'I am the last of a long line of great warriors. I am a Grey Warden, a tournament champion, a Cousland. I am strong and I am brave. I will not break. I am Rowena Cousland…"

It was halfway through one of these mantras that the rope tying them together suddenly went taut, making them all stumble. Dima had stopped short in the middle of the road. "We're almost at the outpost," he said. "It's located at Caridin's Cross, the first major intersection between Orzammar and the rest of the Deep Roads. There'll be light there, don't worry."

"Light?" Eruestan's voice trembled, echoing slightly in the empty roads.

"Yes, it'll be—"

"_Stoy!_" someone yelled sharply in the dark; Beomar shrieked, making them all jump. "_Kto idyot?_"

"_Zdrastvuy, sestra_!" Dima called back. "Nastia, it's Dima – I have the new recruits and the Grey Wardens!"

A flash of light flared in the distance; Rowena's heart fluttered. A few moments later, a dwarf with tattoos over her face appeared in front of them, carrying a small lantern. "About damn time, Dmitri," she said. "We thought the Stalkers might have gotten to you."

The lantern light made all the difference. Rowena looked over at the others in relief – their faces were all drawn and weary. "It just took us a little longer than I was expecting," Dima said. "Everyone, this is Legionnaire Nastia, the sentry for our outpost."

Dagmar started suddenly. "Vladimir?" she asked, peering at Nastia's face. "Is that…is that you?"

Nastia looked stunned. "Damya! Are you the new recruit? I had no idea!" She ran forward and embraced the warrior. "It's been too long!"

"You two know each other?" Eruestan asked as they broke apart.

Dagmar nodded. "Volodya is my uncle's youngest son – he joined the Legion three years ago."

"It's Nastia now, though," she said gently. "Joining the Legion gives us all a new chance to start over, to either carry on as we were or choose the identity we always wanted."

"Too bad we had to die to be able to," Dima said.

"Fair enough." She smiled and squeezed Dagmar's hand. "We can catch up later – I want to hear about the family. You should get them to the captain, though, Dima – there was a cave-in earlier, and it opened a tunnel to a nest of giant spiders. We've had to walk on eggshells all day, and Olga's ready to spit acid."

"When isn't she?" He shook his head and pointed down the road that opened out to their left. "The door to Caridin's Cross is only a few minutes this way. Get ready, though; Old Olga isn't easy to deal with."

Eruestan had gotten very stiff at her side. "Did she just say 'giant spiders'?" he hissed. Rowena shrugged helplessly and started following the two Legionnaires down the road.

Dima grabbed Nastia's lantern and led the way for them down the tunnel. Rowena was now able to see that the walls bore intricate carvings, some showing dwarves, others looking like extensive graffiti. There was a small door in front of them; Dima stepped forward and pulled a lever, opening it and flooding the tunnel with light.

Squinting, the group walked through, hands held over their eyes. As Rowena began to readjust to the light, she saw that they were in a massive cavern, lit by flowing streams of lava. Bridges and tunnels spanning multiple levels stretched out in every direction. Each tunnel had a large word carved in dwarven runes over it; she wondered if they were the names of cities the tunnels led to. A small stone structure had been built under one of these bridges, from which an angry dwarf was marching over to them.

"Lieutenant!" she yelled, pointing her finger at them. "Where in Stone's name have you been? We've been waiting for you for hours!"

Dima looked remarkably uncomfortable. He closed the door behind them and bowed to the woman. "Our route was long, Captain…"

"Oh, was it? What, you think we were all dicking around out here? I've been fighting off giant blasted spiders who keep trying to crawl up my ass, but do you see me complaining?"

"They keep saying 'giant spiders'," Eruestan muttered urgently to Rowena. "Why do they keep saying 'giant spiders'?"

Captain Olga glared at them. "Who are these _duroki_ who can't keep quiet for five minutes?"

"Warden Eruestan and Warden Rowena are the, uh, Wardens, Captain," Dima said quickly. "So are the others. Except these two. They're with us."

She glanced over at Dagmar and Beomar. "They look soft. As for these idiots, though…" She examined the Wardens, watching as they untied the rope around them. "So, you're the new Wardens, huh? I've seen better."

"So has everyone, I imagine," Sten grunted as he ripped his knot to shreds.

She snorted. "I like that one. Now, before you all go and eat, I want a few ground rules. You all may think that you're high and mighty, but down here it's the Legion's word that's law."

"The Grey Wardens are the leading authorities on combatting the Blight," Rowena said, frowning. "Don't you think we should be in charge?"

Olga did not like being challenged. "How long have you been a Warden, sweetheart? Five months? And the rest of you – who's even seen a darkspawn?" Rowena looked at the others – to her surprise, Leliana, Sten, and Zevran didn't raise their hands. "That's what I thought. You're just as bad as any new recruit to the Legion. So while you're down here, you're going to shut up and fall in line." Rowena scowled and nodded. "We'll leave early tomorrow morning – I'm sending some of my best men on this mission, though Stone knows that Branka's fool arse doesn't deserve it. If we're lucky, we'll find her corpse before too long and you all can go back to the surface. Now, for any mages, if I see so much as a spark fall out of any of your fingertips I'll make you wish you could magic yourself up to Tevinter. We've got a whole nest of lyrium-crazed giant spiders lurking around in some of the higher tunnels, and the instant they catch a whiff of a spell they'll pounce on us. Am I understood?"

Eruestan looked faint. "How big are these giant spiders?"

"Too big," the captain growled, turning to leave. "Now go and get some food – you all look like shite."

"Rest would be nice," Wynne said. She did look terrible: there were deep bags under her eyes, and she was leaning rather heavily on her staff. "I think I'll lie down instead – today has left me a little drained."

"There are cots laid out for all of you by the fire," Dima said, finding his voice again once the captain left. "We'll have someone bring dinner over to all of you as well."

"Wonderful," Wynne said. "If you all don't mind…"

They all began to follow suit. There were two fires set up around the outpost. The Legionnaires were squatted around the farthest one; they settled around the second one. Cormac fell to Rowena's feet; Eruestan sat down at her side. "So that was pretty awful," he said finally.  
"Don't get me started," Leliana said, sitting down at Rowena's other side. "I thought I was losing my mind. Did anyone else hear chamber music down there?"

"All I could hear was my own heartbeat," Eruestan said. "How giant do you think these giant spiders are? Like cat-sized, maybe? That'd be pretty giant for a spider, right?"

"Not a fan of spiders, are we?" Leliana teased.

He shuddered. "I've never liked them. Too many legs."

"Well, I think we'll have more to worry about than spiders," Alistair said curtly, throwing a plate of food in front of them. Rowena's spine stiffened. "So don't think about it too much."

"That's the spirit, Alistair," Leliana said brightly, grabbing the tray. The knight rolled his eyes and sat at the far side of the fire. "Urgh – what do you think that is? Meat?"

"I don't care what it is!" Rowena snapped. She grabbed a bite out of it – it was disgusting. "Maker's breath!"

"Absolutely repulsive," Leliana agreed. She glanced over at them and dropped her voice to a murmur. "Just like the way both of you are handling your love lives."

The two of them started. "This is not my fault!" Rowena hissed. "Tell it to Alistair! He's acting like a child – a mean child!"

"And I don't have a love interest!" Eruestan hissed as well. "There's nothing going on between Zevran and me!"

"Honestly, Eruestan, do I look stupid to you? I was there last night."

His ears turned bright red. "Well, then, you saw how he reacted last night. Even if there was anything, I've definitely killed it by now."

"That's not true," Leliana said smugly. "I saw the way he looked – like someone slapped him. He didn't even crack a joke! And have you noticed how quiet he's been today? If you ask me, I think he's shocked to find himself acting developing feelings for another person. And in any case, you need to talk to him about it, like an adult!"

Eruestan's ears were turning shades of colors Rowena had never seen before. "That's…that's not…"

"And as for you, Rowena, Alistair _is_ being a brat, but refusing to talk to him isn't good for either of you," Leliana continued. "The only reason he is acting out is because he's terrified, even more than the rest of us. That's no excuse, of course, but it makes it more understandable, and you're only going to make it worse for everyone by letting it fester like this."

"I'm not angry because he's angry!" she said; her face was getting hot. "I'm angry because he _lied_ to me!"

"Oh, he told me about that," Leliana said, waving her off; Rowena suddenly felt extremely irritated at her. "That wasn't so much a lie as withholding the truth. Besides, no one's every accused him of being the sharpest person out there, he probably _did _forget to say anything. You should talk to him about that, too."

Rowena looked ahead into the fire, trying to keep herself calm. "I'm not doing that."

"Neither am I," Eruestan said quietly.

"Right, let's _not_ listen to the trained seductress and expert on interpersonal communication." The two Wardens remained silent. Leliana sighed. "Look, do what you like – honestly, I think both of them can act just like overgrown children. But they seem to make both of you happy, and even if they don't, not talking about your problems with someone you've cared about is just asking for more pain and anger than anyone needs." More silence. "Am I on the exile list, too, now?" Nothing. "Ugh. Fine. You're all such _babies_."

She turned around and started eating by herself. Rowena stroked Cormac gently, letting herself relax as she stared at the flames. She had made the right decision, hadn't she? She had made the _only_ decision. How could Alistair betray her like this?

Eruestan nudged her side. "Do you think I'm being stupid?"

She glanced over at him and shrugged. "You made yourself pretty clear last night. I think the ball's in Zevran's court now."

He looked back into the fire. "Did you notice he wasn't wearing the belt?"

She sighed. "Maker, we're depressing."

Eruestan snorted. "That's an understatement."

"What are you two nugfuggers whisperin' about?" Oghren slurred, stumbling up to them. "Ain't about me, is it?"

Eruestan looked at him in wonder. "Are you seriously already drunk? How is that possible?"

"It's the fear, puts an extra edge on your ale." He looked over at Wynne, who was propped up against a rock only a few paces away. "Huh. You don't look so hot, Big Tits. You hate walkin' that much?"

Even in her drained state, Wynne was able to shoot him a withering look. "Almost as much as I hate being called 'Big Tits', you revolting little man."

"Leave her alone, Oghren," Rowena said. "You're being gross."

"'Tis his natural condition, I think," Morrigan said.

"Oh, can it, Yellow Eyes," Oghren belched. "You'll warm up to me – everyone always does."

Morrigan's glare was even more frightening that Wynne's. "You can start by setting yourself on fire."

"Eh, sod it." He plopped himself down between Wynne and Eruestan and scratched his head. "Stone's sake, I'm beat. Hey, BT, you, uh, you mind if I catch a quick nap right here? Because I'm gettin' pretty—" He fell asleep mid-sentence, his head falling into Wynne's lap.

She looked so affronted she could hardly speak. "Ugh! The nerve – this _horrible_—I can't—_will someone get him off me_?"

"I'll do it," Leliana sighed, rising to her feet. "Honestly, Zevran, the fact that we've got someone worse than _you_ traveling with us is really—Wynne?" Her voice had gotten sharp; Rowena looked up immediately. "Are you all right? Wynne? What's going on?"

Rowena looked over at Wynne and jumped to her feet. The mage's eyes were flickering with a bright blue light.

"Andraste's ass!" Eruestan was by her side in an instant, throwing Oghren off her lap. "Wynne! Are you all right? What's happening?"

"I'm…I'm fine…" Rowena clutched her sword; whatever had just spoken was not Wynne's voice. "I just…need to…"

Oghren tried to nustle his head back into her lap. "Mmmm...soft…"

There was a strange keening sound, a flash of blue light, and suddenly Oghren was flying across the cavern, landing halfway between the fire and a tunnel leading to the north.

"What the hell's going on?" Captain Olga barked. She had marched up to the fire with the rest of the Legion, eyes flashing. "I said no bleeding magic down in the Roads!"

"She's not doing it on purpose, I promise," Eruestan said desperately. "Please, we just need to—"

All of a sudden, the flashing stopped, and Wynne's eyes returned to normal. She blinked, swayed gently, and then collapsed to one side. Rowena's heart almost stopped. "Is she…is she dead?" she whispered.

Leliana checked her pulse. "She's still breathing," she said in relief. "Whatever that was, the worst should be over – provided she didn't kill Oghren."

The Legion, however, had drawn their weapons. "Guess again, Rockhead," Olga growled, staring at the ceiling. "We're about to have company."

Rowena was about to ask what she meant; then, everyone froze. A strange rustling had filled the cavern, accompanied by some sort of clicking. As the noise grew, so did its echo, until the sound became deafening. Rowena slowly drew her weapon and followed Olga's gaze. She was looking at a tunnel near the top of the cavern wall opposite them. It was small, dark, and unlike the rest of the Roads did not appear to be manmade. None of the bridges spanning the crossroads led to it. Rowena squinted and stepped closer to it, trying to ignore the growing dread in her stomach. As she did so, a large shadow fell from the tunnel.

Another shadow followed, and then another, and another, until a shower of shadows was falling to the cavern floor. Dima swore loudly next to her; Cormac howled as Rowena's heart rate picked up. Speeding across the stone towards them was a swarm of spiders, each as tall as her hound and three times as wide.

Behind her, Eruestan moaned and flared a ball of lightning in his hand. "No!" Olga barked, bracing herself for battle. "Get that woman out of here! Dima, take the recruits and the Wardens out the Varda Road and to the Ortan patrol!"

"Yes, ser!" Dima shouted, grabbing Rowena's arm. "Grab them and let's go!"

Everything was happening too quickly. Sten threw Wynne over his back and began running; the others followed suit. Rowena was about to do the same when she glanced over to the crumpled dwarf lying halfway across the floor. "Eruestan," she said. "We have to go save Oghren."

He looked terrified. "You're right," he squeaked. "Let's go." The others were running ahead; even Cormac was running along beside Leliana and Zevran, howling wildly. Clashes of metal and horrible screaming was starting to come from behind them. "There's too many of them," she gasped, looking over to Eruestan. "There's only 15 Legionnaires."

The elf's eyes were wide. "Oh Maker, oh Maker, oh Maker, oh Maker, oh Maker—"

They finally reached Oghren, who was stirring gently on the ground. Rowena threw him over her shoulder; he was far heavier than she had anticipated. Knees buckling for a moment, she quickly corrected herself and started running diagonally after the others. They were going too slow, however, and the sounds of combat were getting fainter behind them. "Eruestan," she panted, "g-go…hurry, we'll…catch up…"

He didn't say anything. She glanced over at him and realized that he was too panicked to think clearly. Cormac was howling again, starting to come back after her now that he'd noticed that he'd gone on without her. Suddenly the clicking behind them grew incredibly loud – she almost screamed, before she realized that the spiders were racing past them to get to Wynne.

There were too many of them; there was no way they could fight them off, not without more men at their side. Poor Beomar was directly in their path; she turned her head as one spider pounced on him, its pincers poised. There was a loud shriek, and then silence. "Oh, Sweet Andraste," she said, eyes closed. "They're going to kill us."

Before that thought could sink in, Eruestan screamed something in Tevinter. There was a great rush of hot air, a flash of bright light, and then a giant explosion that shook the floor. She opened her eyes in shock. Everything had frozen; the spiders were transfixed by Eruestan's spell, and the others were watching the smoke clear from where his fireball had hit the tallest bridge. The sound of something falling apart began to echo in the cavern; Rowena moaned softly as the bridges above them began to collapse, raining giant boulders down on top of them.

The first landed in the middle of the spider horde, sending massive shockwaves throughout the cavern. Eruestan looked stunned as he stared at the next one, pummeling down onto his head. Rowena dropped Oghren and screamed, grabbing her friend around his waist and throwing him out of harm's way. She hunched over him, eyes closed as she waited for impact. It didn't come. _This is it,_ she thought. _We've been killed._

She opened her eyes and blinked. The boulder was hovering less than an inch above their heads, surrounded by a blue light. In fact, the whole cavern was surrounded in blue light: every person, rock, and spider. She stood up slowly; it was like moving through water. Eruestan rose unsteadily beside her, eyes locked on Wynne.

The mage was standing once again, eyes and mouth emanating blue light. Her arms were outstretched, levitating the section of bridge that had threatened to kill the entire party in one blow. She stared at it for a moment, radiating power; then, with a terrible shriek that came from somewhere beyond the Fade, she threw her arms up in the air.

Rowena was jolted into the air a few feet, landing hard on her knees. With a crash like thunder the rocks slammed into the cavern ceiling; the blue light was gone in a flash. She didn't wait around to figure out what that meant. "Eruestan!" she yelled, grabbing Oghren once more. "Get to that tunnel ahead of us! Now!"

She didn't even look to see if he had agreed. She began running as fast she could, not towards the others, but towards the road that Oghren had been thrown to. The ground was starting to shake; the rocks were beginning to make contact with the earth. Eruestan shouted something at her side; there was a blast of dirt above them. She closed her eyes and continued to run forward. They were almost there – almost safe – just a few more steps…

A giant boulder landed right behind them, propelling them forward and sealing off the tunnel entrance. She landed head first, cracking her skull against a rock. All three of them lay unconscious as the dust began to settle and the screams faded outside the tunnel. None of that mattered, however. For now, they were safe.

Alistair was lying on the ground. Cormac was howling and barking, running up and down the sealed passage. Leliana walked over to them quickly, her heart racing as she tried to hush the hound. The knight slowly sat up, blinking as the dust cleared. The tunnel entrance was completely blocked by boulders; someone's arm was lying exposed barely a foot away from him. "Who is that," he said, shrinking back. "Is anyone missing?"

"It's Dima," Leliana whispered, crouching down beside him. She and Zevran pulled him to his feet; both their faces were covered in dust. "He made sure everyone got through, but…"

Alistair leaned against the cavern wall. Crystals lit up the ceiling and the passage; his eyes fell on Wynne, who was lying unconscious at Sten's feet. "What happened?" he asked quietly, placing a hand on Cormac's head. "What was that?"

"It was a cave-in," Dagmar said. "Your friend's spell brought the whole place down."

"I don't mean the cave-in," he said. "I mean with Wynne."

Leliana took a step forward; she didn't like the look on his face. "Don't," she said quickly. "She's…she's not well, Alistair, that amount of magic almost killed her—"

"That wasn't magic!" The others fell silent. "I know what mages can do – I know what to look for! We all saw what happened at the Tower - whatever the hell happened, Wynne wasn't behind it!"

Leliana found herself entering a very calm state, the one she used to enter during the most dangerous of her missions as a bard. "What are you saying, Alistair?"

"He is saying that Wynne is an Abomination," Morrigan said, stepping next to Leliana. "She is a danger, a threat, and she may have killed Rowena and Eruestan."

"Don't say that," Zevran said suddenly; everyone looked over at him. He stared coldly back at them.

"It's true, though," Alistair snapped. "Look at what she did! She's dangerous!"

"She saved our lives!" Leliana said.

"And she put us at risk," Sten said. "Whatever is happening to her, she cannot control it."

"So…so what are you saying?" Leliana's hand was resting on her dagger hilt. "You just want to kill her?"

"No," Morrigan said; Leliana blinked in surprise. "There is no need for that."

"Yes, there is!" Alistair said. His voice trembled; Leliana could tell he was on the brink of panicking. "We have enough trying to kill us down here – we can't let our feelings distract us from the fact that an Abomination could kill us, too! If Eruestan or Rowena knew about this—"

"They did," Morrigan said.

Everyone was silent for a moment. "What?"

"Wynne told Eruestan," she said. "And I figured it out on my own and told Rowena. They were both waiting to see what would happen to her before they made any decisions."

Alistair's face was faltering. "And we're…we're just supposed to believe that?"

"I do," Leliana said. "Alistair, think about it! Wynne has been a friend to us for months! If she was going to harm anyone, she would have done it by now."

"Something tells me that thing isn't under control, Leliana."

"We don't know that," she said. "I won't let anyone hurt Wynne, not before she can explain herself."

"Nor will I," Morrigan said, crossing her arms.

Zevran stepped up next to them. "Nor I," he said quietly.

For a moment, Leliana thought Alistair was going to resist them. Then, to her surprise, he broke down in front of them. "I'm sorry," he said, pinching his nose. "I'm sorry. This has just—it's been—I've—"

"It's all right," Leliana said, placing a hand on his arm; beside them, Cormac nestled his head under Alistair's arm, whining slightly. "We understand."

"We all need to figure out what we're doing," Dagmar said. Out of all of them, she looked the most calm. "The last person capable of guiding us is dead, and now we're stranded in the largest labyrinth in all of Thedas."

"We need to find Eruestan," Zevran said. His face was very still, and suddenly Leliana realized that he could actually be very frightening.

"And Rowena," Alistair said, calming himself down. "We need to find Rowena and Eruestan. I know they made it to that tunnel – she's still alive, I can feel it."

Even this deep under the earth, trapped by fallen rocks and chased by giant spiders, Leliana couldn't help but feel giddy about the displays of romance playing out right in front of her. "We'll find them," she said firmly. "So long as we take tunnels leading to the north, we'll run into them."

"I can make sure of that," Dagmar said. "More importantly, what are we going to do about her?" She gestured to Wynne, who still had yet to move.

They all looked at each other uneasily. "We should rest for now, anyways," Leliana said. "Hopefully she'll be awake by the time we're ready to move on."

"And if she wakes up while we're sleeping?" Sten asked. "What will keep her from attacking us?"

"This will," Zevran said quietly. He pulled a beautifully engraved leather belt out from under his tunic; Leliana almost gasped in delight. "Restrain her arms with this, and put her on her side. It's only leather, but it might confuse her when she wakes up. It'll give us a minute to react, at least."

Alistair did so, turning her gently on her side. He stood up slowly, hands in his hair. "What are we going to do?" he asked softly.

Leliana walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "We're going to find them," she said firmly. "But now, we need to rest."

* * *

_I'm terrible and don't deserve all the wonderful support I've gotten for this - particularly from Tallygirl02, I-wannabe-a-dragon, Judy, and as always the ever lovely mille libri! I really will try to be more consistent; my life's been a little crazy lately (in a good way!) but that's no excuse! Feel free to review! _


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